


Requiem for an Assassin

by elthedane



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassination Attempt(s), Brain Damage, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Dark, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Russian Mafia, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Being Tony, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-02 16:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14549235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elthedane/pseuds/elthedane
Summary: Disgraced reporter Steve Rogers is asked to interrogate the Winter Soldier, a hitman sent by the Russian mafia to kill Tony Stark. But when things start to get too personal, Steve has to choose between Bucky and his government.(Alternate Universe)





	1. Codename: Winter Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling all the feels after the end of Infinity War, so thought I needed to write a Stucky fic to cheer myself up. I'll try to update as often as I can throughout the summer because I know as soon as school starts again I'll be swamped. 
> 
> Note: This is an alternate universe! Yes, I will be making up wars, facts, jobs, ranks, etc. Please don't kill me. 
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings will be at the bottom (if there are any).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a surprise visit from S.H.I.E.L.D. that leads him face-to-face with someone he thought he'd never see again.

 

The room was bright, all fluorescent lights and scrubbed white walls. The floor was polished enough to reflect the plain metal table and two chairs that occupied the room. The tiles were pristine save for a small pool of blood.

“I don’t have time for games.” Rumlow growled. “Who the fuck are you and who do you work for?” Rumlow slammed his fists against the table in anger and for theatrical effect. The man sitting across from him didn’t flinch. His steely blue eyes were locked on Rumlow’s, his face expressionless.

“We can take you in for another round, if that’s what you want.” Rumlow said, his impatience poorly hidden. This suggestion elicited a small reaction from the Soldier, a quick widening of the eyes followed by a failed attempt at remaining unresponsive. His face was bruised and cut in numerous places and he attempted to stay very still to avoid the pain of several broken bones.

“Had enough, huh, tough guy?” Taunted Rumlow, “In that case, how about you tell me who the hell you are. No codename bullshit, we already know those. I want specifics.” The Soldier shifted slightly, his jaw clenching and relaxing.

“Who sent you?” Rumlow demanded, “We’ve got agents working ‘round the clock on finding your files. And we’ll find them. Sooner or later. So you can tell us now, or we can find it out ourselves. One way is gonna be a lot more painful that the other, believe me.”

The Soldier let out a long, somewhat shaky breath.

“No.”

“No…?” Rumlow leaned over the table to stare directly in the Soldier’s eyes. He was satisfied to see that he could detect some fear in them. Good. That meant they were getting somewhere. Brock Rumlow backhanded the man hard enough for blood to appear on his bottom lip. The Soldier brought his head slowly back to its original position, his gaze slightly averted. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Rumlow observed the Soldier’s hands for signs of weakness. The metal one lay still on the table, and the other showed no discernable tremor. His gaze was steady.

 

“Goddamn it!” Rumlow addressed the one-way mirror. “It’s been weeks, sir! This guy won’t say squat!”

The intercom crackled and a man’s voice came on.

“Take a break, Sergeant.”

Rumlow swore under his breath and slammed his hand on the table again.

“We’re not done.” He told the Soldier. Rumlow’s eyes settled on the newspaper on the table, open to the same article as earlier. He tore it in half and pushed it across the table. The Soldier frowned slightly at this, which made Rumlow feel a little better. He slammed the door to the interrogation room on the way out.

“This is a matter of national importance, Sergeant Rumlow-” Agent Coulson explained, gesturing to the man currently shackled to the steel table.

“He won’t say a word to us. We need more specialists and less red tape.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not possible.”

“Sure, it’s not legal, but it’s _possible_.” Argued Rumlow. “Do you want him released, Coulson? Cause that’s what it’s looking like if we can’t tie him to-”

“I’m aware of that.” Said Coulson. Rumlow sighed. “Try again.”

“Yes, sir.” He agreed through gritted teeth. He stretched out his neck before entering the room again. It felt smaller than the last time somehow.

 

“I will ask you again,” Rumlow said, enounciating his words. “Who are you?” The Soldier worked his jaw again, but didn’t say a thing. Rumlow would’ve beat his pretty little face in if he weren’t already on probation. Rumlow scrubbed his face and sighed. His eyes gravitated towards the torn-up newspaper, the page it had been open to all day was under the Soldier’s good hand.

Rumlow pulled the article from between his fingers, facing a surprising amount of resistance for something as insignificant as a piece of paper. It was an article supposedly “exposing” the U.S.A’s funding of corrupt politicians in the Sokovia-Russia crisis. Typical liberal reporter drivel. It featured some photos of bombed-out buildings and Stark missiles (which you could easily identify despite the blurred-out company name). But in the corner, there was a small colour photo of the author, a traditionally handsome blonde man with a bright, All-American smile. Those kind of guys had always pissed Rumlow off a little bit with their perfect existences. He scoffed out loud.

“This mean something to you?” He demanded.

“No, sir.” The Soldier responded.

“Hm. You sure?” Rumlow ripped the page in half again, watching for a reaction. Sure enough, there was the smallest flash of panic. “It’s the Stark missile, isn't it? Cause you’ve got beef with Stark?” A tiny smirk that could only be described as arrogant flashed across the Soldier’s lips. Rumlow huffed. That wasn’t it.

“How about this guy?” He slammed down the photo of the reporter. He read the name underneath. “Steve Rogers? You know him, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.” The Soldier stared at the table, his eyebrows knitted with confusion.

“Bullshit. How do you know this man?” Rumlow held the photo in front of the prisoner’s face, his heart pounding. The other man shifted uncomfortably. Finally, they were progressing.

“I - I don’t know.” A wave of exasperation rippled through Rumlow yet again and he had to remind himself that he was on probation for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out.” Rumlow said. The Soldier’s eyebrows furrowed further.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

 

***

  


Steve Rogers was proud of his work. Sure, he’d gotten on a lot of people’s bad sides throughout his career, but in his mind it was worth it. He’d been banned from three countries already, mostly for outing their corrupt governments. Also, because he repeatedly refused to leave. Peggy had once told him that his stubbornness was his worst and best quality. _Peggy_. Steve swallowed the growing lump in his throat and pushed her out of his mind.

Ever since the Sokovia article, Steve had found himself in a bit of a dry spell, work-wise. He’d anticipated controversy, but not like this. It seemed that the U.S military and organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D. weren’t too keen on being told they were contributing to the bloodiest civil war in modern history. The article had been removed from the Internet within a few days of publication, and Steve had started getting the strange feeling that he was being followed. The more he read about S.H.I.E.L.D., the more he realized he probably should have kept the secretive organization out of the article.

“Hey, Cap, where do you want this?” Sam asked, shifting a box from under his left arm to his right.

“Um… Kitchen.” Steve waved his hand in the general direction. “And don’t call me that. Please.” Sam chuckled under his breath.

“ _Captain America: local reporter fights for American values all over the world in spite of-_ ”

“Oh, stop it.” Steve shook his head and tried to hide the small smile from growing on his face. “I can’t believe you memorized that.”

“What? You can’t believe I remembered the headline that made my college roommate famous? You’d memorize it too if it was about me.”

“I’m hardly famous, Sam.” Steve insisted, unpacking one of the boxes labelled ‘kitchen’. It was mostly cooking utensils and some pans. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to sit on the couch with a beer and ignore the mess of his new apartment. If he’d been anywhere near as famous as Sam thought he was, one bad article wouldn’t have made him move out of his old Brooklyn apartment. His annoyance must have shown on his face because Sam clapped him on the back and shook his shoulder amicably.

“Hey, man, it’s just a rough patch.” Sam said. “Remember the Colombia article? You bounced back.”

“I don’t know… This feels different.”

“You’ve pissed off governments before.”

“Never my own!” Steve’s voice grew unnaturally high so he cleared his throat.

“I’m gonna try to pretend I didn’t enjoy that voice crack a little too much.” Sam chuckled.

“I’m serious, though, I have a bad feeling about this.” Steve put some spatulas and wooden spoons into the drawer next to the stove. The stove was definitely older than his last one and in dire need of an upgrade. Come to think of it, the whole apartment was in need of an upgrade. Ever since Brooklyn had been gentrified and turned into Hipster-land, rent prices had skyrocketed. Most of the people he’d grown up with couldn’t even afford to live here anymore. The Polish mom-and-pop shops had been replaced by fancy bars serving cocktails with artisanal ice. Steve couldn’t picture what _artisanal ice_ would look like for the life of him.

“I don’t know why you didn’t take that place my brother was lending out in Harlem. Harlem ain’t as fucked up as it used to be. ‘Specially his area.”

“Sam…”

“Sorry. As _messed_ up as it used to be.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“You know why.” Steve sighed. His eyes naturally gravitated towards the box labeled ‘family’. He knew every picture in there by heart. He knew what colour his mom’s shirt was in the picture of her pushing a young Steve on the swing set in the park. He could tell you how many wrinkles there were on his grandfather’s forehead. Every one of those pictures were taken here in Brooklyn.

“It’s just a neighbourhood, Steve.” Sam shrugged. Steve felt his shoulders sag. Sam’s dad had been a Marine, so they’d always moved around when he was a kid. As hard as that would have been, there was no way to make someone like Sam understand the place that Brooklyn held in Steve’s heart.

“You know, there are some nice places in Queens.” Sam suggested, for the fiftieth time. By this point, the fight had gone out of his voice, as if he’d already made peace with Steve’s stubbornness. Nevertheless, Steve’s email inbox was littered with apartment listings sent by Sam, each one objectively better than the one he’d decided to move into.

“I’m not gonna leave Brooklyn.” Steve said, his tone not quite as firm as he’d wanted.

“Whatever you say, Cap.” Sam offered Steve a sad smile.

“Well, I’ve gotta go to work in an hour. You need to bring up anything else?” Sam asked, slipping his coat on and retrieving his keys from the cluttered table near the door.

“No, you’ve been a great help. Thanks.” Steve leaned against the kitchen counter. It was strange being back in an apartment so small that you could see the front door from anywhere in the kitchen/dining room/living room area. He had never been one of those guys who liked to brag about his material possessions, but Steve had to admit he’d been quite proud of his last apartment. He couldn’t deny that this place was a significant step down.

Steve locked the door behind Sam as he descended the narrow staircase to the bottom floor. Steve knew he should probably unpack and maybe even skim over the ‘help needed’ section of the newspaper, but he couldn’t find the willpower to do anything but sink into his couch, squeezing himself between a box of books and one of assorted electronics. _A rough patch_. Everyone got those, right? It was worth it for people to know the truth about their government and the ongoing U.S funding that was making the Russia-Sokovia crisis even worse. At least, that’s what Steve tried to convince himself.

 _Stay out of things you don’t understand_. Those words had appeared on his computer screen seconds before everything on his hard drive was wiped. He’d been threatened too many times to count, whether it be because of his investigation into governments that accepted drug money in return for turning a blind eye, or others whose industries were mounted on the backs of poor children working in slavery. The closer to the truth he’d gotten, the more threats he’d received. Steve supposed that was to be expected. Usually, he was only spurred on by these threats, since it usually meant the information he was collecting was important.

This time, no one seemed to be trying to stop him from anything. It was simply as if his own country had just decided to ignore him; His requests for his new articles to be published were never answered; His old articles and publications were forgotten; Even his page in NYU’s ‘notable alumni’ section was erased. It was almost like Steve Rogers had never existed.

 

A buzz at Steve’s door woke him up. He checked his phone and groaned when he found out it was only 3:00 am. He assumed it must have been Sam. Maybe he forgot something earlier and needed it for some reason… no that didn’t make much sense. Steve rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and shuffled to the buzzer.

“Who is it?” Steve asked groggily.

“Are you Steve Rogers, formerly with the New York Times?” An unfamiliar voice asked. Steve yawned and furrowed his brow. He’d only moved in yesterday. Only two other people knew this was his address: Sam, and the landlord.

“Who is this?” He asked. Suspicion was mounting inside him, prickling the back of his neck.

“We need to talk. Let us in, please.” The same voice said. Steve sighed but pushed the button anyway. He immediately heard footsteps in the staircase. Even the tiniest sound in the stairwell always echoed like crazy, something that had never bothered him about the new place before, but it seemed ominous now somehow.

His heart pounding in his ears, Steve opened the door to find two men, one in a suit and one wearing something that resembled a police uniform. If he was with the police, it certainly wasn’t the NYPD. Steve swallowed hard before letting them in. He kept reminding himself he had nothing to hide.

“Hm. Nice place. Cozy.” The man in the suit said, nodding approvingly.

“I’m sorry it’s such a mess. I’m just moving in.” _Speaking of which, how did you find me?_ He wanted to ask. “Can I get you anything?” He asked instead, glancing somewhat uncomfortably around the apartment.

“No, we’re quite fine, thank you.” The suit man said with a small smile. He was significantly shorter than Steve, with receding brown hair and kind eyes.

“What can I do for you?” Steve asked, slifting a yawn.

“I apologize for the hour, Mr. Rogers.” The suit man said. “I am Agent Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

“You’re with S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Steve blurted. He’d had a nightmare once that went a little bit like this. Men from S.H.I.E.L.D. showed up in the middle of the night and killed him quietly, while he was asleep.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers. I am. This is Sergeant Brock Rumlow, with the Military Police.” Coulson continued. He seemed unfazed by Steve’s discomfort.

“Is this about… Is this about the article I wrote for the New York Times?” Steve started.

“Why would S.H.I.E.L.D. give a shit about your anti-military propaganda?” Rumlow demanded. Steve bristled. Clearly, this man hadn’t even read the article.

“I have nothing but respect for our troops, Sergeant Rumlow.” Steve said, squaring his shoulders.

“I know.” Coulson said with a wave of his hand. “It’s quite remarkable, really, the amount of times you tried to enlist before enrolling at NYU. May I ask what changed your mind about the armed forces?”

“Well,” Steve said, “You get rejected enough times, eventually you get the hint.”

Steve could tell Coulson didn’t buy that, so he tried again.

“That, and I fell in love with journalism. Thought I could make a difference.” Steve said quietly. Rumlow muttered something indecipherable under his breath.

“Fair enough.” Coulson said. Steve was thankful that he didn’t ask about _why_ he’d been rejected from the military. It was always a rather awkward story to tell, especially given how well Steve had grown into his frame after puberty. “And please excuse Sergeant Rumlow, he’s had a long day.”

Rumlow shifted, his hand running along his belt to where Steve assumed his gun was. If this was meant to scare Steve, he had to admit it wasn’t quite hitting the mark. He’d dealt with entire cartels wanting him dead, so one sleep-deprived police officer wasn’t exactly making him shake in his boots (or socks, more accurately).

“Well, Mr. Rogers. I’m afraid this isn’t exactly a social call.” Coulson said. He paced around the living room, occasionally peering into some of the boxes. “We have a prisoner back at the base. He’s a very dangerous man. He has a rap sheet longer than your arm.” Coulson fished a picture from inside his jacket pocket and handed it to Steve. Steve’s jaw dropped.

“Impossible.” He breathed. “That can’t be him.”

“You know him?” Rumlow demanded. “How?”

Steve skimmed the photo over again, taking in the sunken eyes and vacant expression. Something about the image sent shivers down his spine. But the facial structure, eye colour, and slight downward turn of the man’s mouth were all unmistakable.

“We went to school together.” Steve admitted. “He was a few years older than me, but our mothers worked at the same hospital.”

“You went to school with a terrorist?” Rumlow raised an eyebrow. Coulson cleared his throat and shot his associate a pointed look.

“Last I heard, Bucky was deployed in Sokovia.” Steve shook his head, the corners of his eyes starting to burn. “I had no idea.” He tried to imagine the Bucky in the photograph without his long, stringy hair and stubble. He tried to imagine him as the same smirking, mischievous young man who dragged Steve out to bars to meet girls on his last night before his first deployment.

“I guess I always assumed he died out there.” Steve heard himself whisper. The truth was, he hadn’t given much thought to Bucky after the first few years he was gone. They’d grown apart after Bucky graduated high school and enlisted. They met up for drinks once in a while when they were in the same cities, but were hardly close anymore by the time Bucky left for Sokovia. He hadn’t heard so much as a mention of him since then.

“I’m sorry, Steve. Can I call you Steve?” Agent Coulson asked. Steve nodded. “This … _Bucky_ … as you call him, won’t talk to us. That’s where you come in.”

“James Buchanan Barnes. That’s his name.” Steve said. It felt weird to call him by that name, but having a stranger call him Bucky was even weirder.

“Right. Well it’s rather time-sensitive and we’ll give you more information at the base. But we’ll need you to come with us, Mr. Rogers.” Coulson explained.

“I’m guessing you’re not asking.” Steve said, his eyes landing on Rumlow’s gun, which was close enough to his fingers for an easy draw.

“You catch on quickly.” Coulson said with his small, enigmatic smile.

“This isn’t exactly my first rodeo, Mr. Coulson.”

“Agent.”

“ _Agent_ Coulson.” Steve corrected. Coulson nodded in approval.

 

As the three men left the building, Steve had the unshakable feeling that there was a gun pointed at him. Steve glanced at Rumlow’s belt and let out his breath once he found it his gun hadn’t moved. Nevertheless, Steve checked over his shoulder periodically as he was led half a block down the street and ushered into the back of a sleek, black car.

It had always seemed to him that only government vehicles could be so clean that the entire city was reflected in their paint jobs. He watched Brooklyn pass outside his window, noting the fancy coffee shops and renovated buildings. Steve felt strangely guilty for forgetting how Brooklyn used to look.

Steve pulled the picture that Coulson had given him out of his pants pocket. What had happened to make Bucky’s eyes look like that, so dead? Whoever this was, it certainly wasn’t the Bucky Steve remembered. Somehow that scared him more than Rumlow’s gun or a Colombian cartel ever could.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Codename: Winter Soldier, Session 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve interrogates the hitman known as the Winter Soldier. He finds Bucky quite different than when he was first deployed to Sokovia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure where this is going, but writing about Steve and Bucky is always fun so I'll probably just figure it out as I go.

 

Steve fiddled with the zipper on his hoodie, nervously glancing into the one-way mirror. There was something unnerving about the man at the table. He looked like Bucky, but there was something about him… It felt to Steve like there was a stranger in there wearing his old friend’s face. Or it felt like one of those horror movies where a dark entity took over one of the character’s bodies and made them murder people. Steve had found out pretty early on that he couldn’t watch those movies. He got nightmares for weeks.

“So he can’t see me right now?” Steve asked again, mostly to calm his nerves.

“No. He can’t.” Coulson answered.

“How long as he been there?” Steve asked.

“At the table or on base?” Rumlow asked. He was sitting at the computer, watching old interviews of Bucky with other men and occasional women, the images flashing quickly accross the screen. Sometimes he would stop and watch a bit in real time, write something down, then keep skimming. Steve figured he was looking for anything that elicited a reaction, something he could use in the future. His gut churned at the thought.

“At the table. Waiting for me.”

“All night.” Rumlow answered with a harsh chuckle. Coulson’s mouth tightened but he said nothing.

“I know, Steve, it’s not ideal. But, as I said earlier today, this is a time-sensitive matter.”

“May I ask why?” Steve asked. Coulson and Rumlow exchanged looks and Steve nodded. “Ah, I get it.”

“The information we share with you is strictly on a need-to-know basis.” Coulson explained.

“How do I know what to ask him if I don’t know what information you want?” Steve asked. Rumlow scoffed.

“It took 10 interrogations to get a codename, 18 to get the name of the city he was based in. Except we already knew that. It would’ve probably taken another 10 to get his real name, but you kindly provided that. So please, Steve from the New York Times, tell us exactly why you need confidential information for this.” Rumlow said.

“Why wouldn’t he want you to know his name?” Steve asked. He looked through the one-way mirror again, where Bucky was fiddling with the wrist restraints, trying to find a semi-comfortable position. “I mean, couldn’t you take fingerprints or a hair sample and test it against his military records?”

“Oh wow! How did we not think of that?” Rumlow exclaimed, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “These people aren’t amateurs, Rogers. All his records were wiped. Even with the name you gave us, it’s all gone.”

Steve swallowed his embarrassment and addressed Coulson.

“So what are we waiting for? When am I supposed to go in there?”

“It’s not _what_ we’re waiting for, it’s _who_.” Coulson said with another undecipherable smile. “By the way, now that we know each other a little better, I can tell you I’m a huge fan of yours.”

“Come again?”

“I’ve read almost all your articles, Steve.” Agent Coulson said, “I especially loved the one about the child soldiers in Eastern Europe. Your work on the Sokovia-Russia crisis was exemplary. Until, of course…” Coulson drifted off and cleared his throat. Steve bristled.

“Everything I wrote was true to the best of my knowledge. I don’t lie, sir. And I take pride in my work.” Steve said.

“Well, maybe you should check your facts next time, Sherlock.” A voice said from the doorway. A slim man in a well-tailored jacket and jeans spun designer sunglasses on his index finger.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes. He knew he recognized the dark-haired man from somewhere. Television, maybe?

“Tony Stark.” The man said, extending a hand. Steve shook it, trying not to let his eyes widen too comically. Tony Stark _had_ been on TV alright, but also on billboards, in meetings with the most powerful people in the world, and on the covers of more magazines than Steve had ever owned.

“Steve Rogers.” He said, trying for the same cool nonchalance that Stark displayed.

“I know who you are. _Captain America_. The reporter who fights for American values around the globe and all that. Right?” Tony’s tone bordered on mocking.

“I - Yes, that name appeared in a few articles.” Steve admitted. Tony laughed. It wasn’t a mean laugh, but it was clearly the laugh of a man who was used to being the smartest person in the room. It was a laugh meant more for himself than anyone else.

“You know, that article hurt my company. Did you know that?” Tony asked, “Because of you, I couldn’t get my new Lamborghini. And I really wanted that car.” _He’s kidding, right?_ Steve hoped to God he was kidding.

“With all due respect, people are dying, Mr. Stark. Your multi-billion dollar company wasn’t my biggest concern.” Steve said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

“Seemed like you were plenty concerned when you accused me of selling weapons to the Russian mob.” Shrugged Tony.

“Weren’t you?”

“Was I?” Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Yes!” Steve said, his voice rising.

“I’m messing with you. I know I did.” Tony waved a hand dismissively. “Coulson.” He inclined his head in greeting.

“Agent Coulson.” He corrected.

“Ah, yes. Agent.” Tony snapped his fingers and pointed over at Steve with an over exaggerated look of guilt. “Can’t forget the ‘Agent’, huh, Cap?”

“So you knew you were supplying weapons to the Russians?” Steve demanded, trying to shift the billionaire’s attention back to the matter at hand.

“Well, no. Not exactly. See, my background checks didn’t used to be as rigorous as they are now… In fact, they used to be nonexistent. My best guess is that someone I sold to in the past then sold to the Russian mafia. Honest mistake.” Stark shrugged.

“An honest mistake is going 55 in a 50, not selling weapons that can, and did, kill thousands of people into the wrong hands!” Steve exclaimed. Tony chuckled.

“55 in a 50? You live life on the wild side, my friend.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, yeah, right. I know what the point is. The _point_ is that your buddy in there is an ex-military hitman who tried to kill me!” Stark gestured to Bucky, who was still preoccupied with the restraints. Steve felt his mouth fall open slightly. _Hitman? Bucky?_

“Speaking of him, I think you can go in now, Steve.” Coulson said. “I’d love to let you two continue with this discussion, but, like I said -”

“Time-sensitive matter.” Steve finished. Stark and Rumlow exchanged hushed words followed by short chuckles.

Steve had too many questions to wrap his head around. First of all, why did Bucky try to kill Stark? Second, why was Stark here, at a SHIELD base? Third, if SHIELD already knew Stark sold the Russians, why wasn’t he facing legal punishment? Fourth, what kind of information did these people think that he, a guy Bucky hadn’t seen for years, could possibly extract that could be of value? Fifth…. Oh God, he could go on forever.

“What do I do?” He asked Coulson. He seemed like the most trustworthy of the bunch.

“For now, just try to make conversation. Get him talking so we can observe his reactions.” Coulson explained. He handed Steve a tiny piece of equipment. He must have noticed Steve’s confusion. “It’s an earpiece, Steve.” He clarified. “It was actually Rumlow’s idea. It would be best if you didn’t address us directly. Just pretend you can’t hear us.”

“Oh, and if you could find out why that maniac wants me dead that would be nice, too.” Stark added, glancing over his shoulder from where he was leaning over Rumlow’s computer.

“Got it.” Steve nodded. Coulson sent him off with another of his small smiles.

 

The door buzzed loudly when Steve opened it and Bucky turned his head to look at him. Immediately, his eyebrows raised slightly. Steve had to fight himself not to go give his old friend a hug. It was unmistakably Bucky, the man who’d visited Steve at NYU while he was home after his messy break-up with Peggy. It was the same boy who’d walked with Steve behind his mother’s casket at her funeral because he couldn’t bear to do it by himself. It was the same Bucky who Steve had actually been _mad_ at for letting their relationship drift apart… Except it wasn’t.

This Bucky was unmistakably different. His eyes didn’t glint the same way, like he was about to convince that a horrible idea was actually the greatest idea in the world. They were vacant and guarded. He didn’t trust Steve. In fact, Steve wasn’t sure Bucky even knew who he was.

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve said tentatively, taking the seat opposite his old friend. Bucky tilted his head slightly.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

 

***

 

“He won’t say anything to me. I’ve tried!” Steve hissed. He took the drink of water Coulson offered him and re-attached the earpiece. “I’ve been in there for three hours.” Even to his own ears, he sounded pathetic and whiny.

“Try telling stories of times you had together. If you think it’ll help, play a song he might remember. Anything to get a conversation started. Build trust.” Agent Coulson said. _So I can break it down again_. Steve kept that thought to himself.

“Yeah, you can read him the notebook you kept about your love story and he’ll finally remember you and you can curl up in bed together.” Suggested Tony.

“What?” Steve asked.

“You know, like _The Notebook_ .” A beat. “Have you never seen _The Notebook_?” Tony scoffed.

“No. I haven’t.” Steve admitted.

“Well, I’m sorry we’re not all as wonderfully manly as you, Cap.” Tony said. Steve let out a small chuckle, even though the joke was at his expense. He was starting to get a feel for Stark’s sense of humour.

 

He sat opposite Bucky again and watched him continue to fiddle with the restraints. He’d bring his wrist forwards for a bit to give the raw, chaffed skin a break and then relax back once the strain on his good shoulder became too uncomfortable. Steve had asked if it was okay to remove them and almost got laughed out of the room. Still, seeing his friend like this was proving to be a lot harder than he thought.

“So, uhh… If you don’t remember being called Bucky, do you want me to call you something else?” Steve started. They hadn’t really gotten past this part in the last three hours, so hopefully something had changed.

“No.” Bucky said, frowning as he looked Steve up and down.

“Okay… Can I call you Bucky, then?”

“If you want.” He shrugged. Steve’s heart fluttered. _He’s talking to me!_ He almost wanted to shout. He could hear Coulson and Rumlow chattering over the earpiece.

“Thanks.” Steve said. “So… Do you remember me at all?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“I don’t know.” He said. “Maybe.”

“Not to freak you out or anything, but we grew up together. In Brooklyn.” Steve said, his voice hitching slightly. “Our moms worked together, so... “ Steve cleared his throat. “We spent a lot of time together as kids.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember that.” Bucky said, averting his eyes uncomfortably.

“Don’t be sorry!” Steve said quickly. “I mean… Whatever happened to make your memories go away probably wasn’t your fault.” Bucky smiled bitterly. His jaw worked.

“Maybe it was.” He said quietly. _No it wasn’t!_ Steve wanted to shout. He glanced over at the one-way mirror, wishing for some information that would tell him that his intuition was right.

“ _Keep going, Steve. Ask him about Sokovia._ ” Coulson ordered. Steve thought it was too soon to bring that up.

“Do you remember your first deployment?” Steve asked instead. Bucky’s eyes grew suddenly alert but faded back to their usual indifference.

“I… Maybe.” His eyes moved back and forth like he was reading a book written on the ceiling, as if his memories would somehow appear there if he kept doing this for long enough.

“It’s okay if you don’t.” Said Steve.

“It was… There was a lot of sand. Afghanistan? Iraq, maybe?” Bucky supplied.

“Yes! Well, no. Syria, but close enough!” Steve hid his excitement poorly. Bucky frowned.

“No, I don’t think so. I was on a mission on Afghanistan.” He said slowly.

“With the 107th division, though, right?” It was okay if Bucky got his countries confused. Hell, even Steve often forgot where his friends had been deployed.

“No, I was alone. I was always alone.” Bucky said, his gaze becoming focused on a point over Steve’s shoulder. Steve couldn’t see anything of interest, but Bucky seemed fully encompassed by it.

“What are you looking at, Buck?” Steve asked. If he knew, he certainly didn’t say. Bucky worked his jaw some more and leaned forward to let the angry, red skin on his wrist breathe. Steve could tell Bucky had been at this for a while because the top and bottom halves of his forearm were almost equally chafed by now. The metal arm had double the restraints but thankfully (for Steve) didn’t seem nearly as uncomfortable.

“Are you hungry?” Steve asked, suddenly aware that Bucky had been here longer than Steve had and he’d never once seen him eat anything. Bucky chuckled a little at this and glanced at the one-way mirror.

“ _He’s lost that privilege until he’s back in his cell_ .” Coulson informed Steve over the earpiece. “ _He can’t be unshackled under any circumstance. It’s too dangerous._ ” Steve could think of a few ways around that, but none of them would probably appeal to Bucky.

“They’re giving you instructions, aren’t they?” Bucky said. His voice was low and soft and Steve thought he could listen to it all day. He sounded suspicious, perhaps a little disappointed.

“Not really.” Steve said. “Mostly… Providing feedback.”

“ _Really, Steve?”_ Stark demanded over the earpiece. Steve could hear Coulson arguing with him indistinctly. “ _What part of ‘gain his trust’ is so difficult?_ ”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Bucky.” Steve said, more as and answer to Stark than anything else. “That’s not what friends do.” Bucky seemed to mull that over in his head for a while, then nodded his head.

“And that’s what we were? Friends?” He asked. Steve nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, Buck! Great friends. We drifted apart, but, you know…” Steve cleared his throat, probably having said a bit too much.

“Oh. Okay.” He focused on his fingers this time, stretching out his metal ones and forming a fist, before letting the artificial muscles relax.

“It wasn’t your fault, though! You had to go to Sokovia, it just-” At the mention of Sokovia, Bucky’s eyes flashed with something indecipherable.

“ _Do that again! Talk about Sokovia!_ ” Rumlow suggested over the earpiece. Steve wished he could tell them all to go to hell.

“I’m sorry.” Said Steve. Bucky worked his jaw again and relaxed back into the restraints, wincing slightly.

“ _Rogers! Ask about Sokovia!_ ” Came the voice of Tony Stark. Steve wanted to rip the earpiece out, but didn’t. He sighed heavily.

“You don’t have to talk about Sokovia if you don’t want to.” Steve said. This time, Bucky didn’t react. His jaw was clenched tightly, as if any other words he might speak would have to be pried out of him.

“Bucky?” Steve’s old friend glanced up at him, his icy blue eyes sending shivers down Steve’s spine.

“Don’t call me Bucky.” He spat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments or suggestions :)


	3. Codename: Winter Soldier, Session 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve shows Bucky some pictures from their childhood. Afterwards, he reminisces and copes with his feelings about the whole situation (in a not-exactly-healthy way).

“This was you?” Bucky asked incredulously, turning the picture over in his hands. The corner of his mouth was tugged upwards into what Steve could only describe as a smile. Steve found it impossible to be insulted. This was the first time he’d seen Bucky smile in years.

“Yeah, I was a pretty skinny kid.” Steve laughed.

Bucky’s eyes scanned over the photo slowly, lingering over his younger self. Young Bucky was smiling, both arms made of flesh and bronzed from the sun. One hand was in Steve’s hair, probably roughing it up like he used to. Steve was mid-laugh when the photo was taken. It remained one of Steve’s favourites, even if it was taken in his awkward phase.

“This was just before your first deployment.” Steve said. Bucky nodded.

“Yeah... Syria?” He said, repeating it like a line from a movie he’d memorized. Bucky glanced up at Steve for confirmation. Steve’s heart did a backflip and his pulse raced. _He remembered._

“Exactly, Buck.” Steve nodded, trying not to let his excitement show too much.

Steve’s heart grew heavy as he pulled the next photo from the envelope.

“Here’s...uh… your mom on the left, mine on the right.” Steve handed the picture over. They were both beautiful, eating ice cream in their nurses’ uniforms after a long shift, their arms around one another. Something in Bucky’s eyes flashed. Bucky’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Does she know I’m alive?” Bucky asked. The question took Steve a little by surprise. He seemed different today. Steve was determined to help bring the old Bucky back.

“No.” Steve said. _No one knows but S.H.I.E.L.D._ He kept that part to himself.

“ _Ask about HYDRA.”_ Said Coulson’s voice in his earpiece. A lot of files had been found in the last 24 hours, and Rumlow and Tony were sorting through it for anything valuable while Steve continued this cruel little game of ‘building trust’.

Steve wished he could have a normal conversation with Bucky, where they would reminisce and talk about what happened in the past six years. All without being watched or listened to.

“ _Rogers!”_ Came Tony’s voice, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Bucky, can I ask you something?” Steve asked. Bucky seemed to sense it was a question he wouldn’t like. He put the pictures down and shifted nervously.

“You probably won’t get the answer you’re looking for.” Bucky said. _Here it goes anyway_ , Steve thought.

“What do you know about HYDRA?” Steve asked. Steve himself had a very limited knowledge about this group. There were rumours that it was made up of the biggest crime families in Eastern Europe. Other rumours stated it was a government organization gone bad.

Bucky flinched as if Steve had just hit him. He then smiled bitterly and glanced up at Steve through his eyelashes.

“Who told you to ask me that? Stark?” He sounded angry, but also a little hurt. That made Steve feel like absolute garbage.

“No.” Said Steve. It technically wasn’t Tony who’d asked, so it wasn’t a lie.

“Never heard of them.” Bucky said, leaning back into the chair. Steve heard someone curse over the earpiece.

“What about the Vasiliev crime family?” Steve asked, on a hunch. Bucky shook his head.

“The Kovac family?” Steve asked. Bucky’s lips tightened and he exhaled slowly, his jaw clenching in a familiarly stubborn way.

“ _What are you doing, Cap?”_ Asked Tony, who Steve assumed had taken over the communications. Steve heard typing near the microphone and wished he could address Tony directly and tell him the rumours he’d heard. He was simply testing a theory.

“Mironov?” Steve asked. Bucky glanced nervously at the camera.

 _“Hell yeah, Rogers!”_ Tony exclaimed, so loudly it hurt Steve’s ear. “ _Not just a pretty face, after all.”_

“How did you hear that name?” Bucky whispered, probably hoping he would be quiet enough that the microphone wouldn’t pick it up. Something about the urgency in his voice made Steve’s stomach knot up.

“I spent a year in Sokovia and Ukraine for my child soldier article. It came up a few times.” Steve explained. He kept his voice equally hushed, despite protests from Tony.

“So it’s true? HYDRA is made up of the nine major crime families in Eastern Europe?” The mythology buff in Steve hoped that there were indeed nine families, like the nine heads of the Lernaean Hydra.

Bucky glanced up at the camera again and shook his head microscopically. It was more of a warning than an answer.

“It’s S.H.I.E.L.D. You can trust them.” Steve said. The suspicion didn’t fade from Bucky’s face. He shook his head again, the movement so small Steve almost missed it.

Steve wondered if Bucky was protecting them or simply afraid of them. He thought it would be better not to ask.

“I don’t know.” Bucky said. His eyes met Steve’s and somehow he knew exactly what Bucky was thinking. He’d tell Steve, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to have a recording of his voice betraying whoever hired him. That would be a death wish, even for someone as resourceful as Bucky.

Steve nodded, unable to shake the sneaky feeling of guilt that had started to mount inside him. He seemed to be gaining Bucky’s trust back, just like he’d been asked to do. But why did it feel like he was doing something wrong? Why did it seem like Bucky would get hurt because of this? Steve tried to convince himself that S.H.I.E.L.D. would handle the information well and Bucky wouldn’t be affected, but the guilt was still there, eating at his brain and screaming at him that he was being a horrible friend.

 

“I need to be alone with him,” Steve said, taking the earpiece out. Tony scoffed.

“You are alone.”

“I mean _alone_ , alone. No one watching, no one listening.” Steve explained.

“Not a chance.” Coulson said, putting the earpiece and the recording device into a sleek black briefcase and locking it.

“Look, getting people to trust me enough to tell me things is my job,” Steve said, “plus, Bucky is my friend. I can tell he knows more than he’s letting on.”

“You heard the Agent, not a chance!” Tony exclaimed. “Your buddy the hitman is probably just trying to get you alone to do what he did to the other guy.”

“What?” Steve asked.

“We turned off the cameras once, and it was a mistake.” Coulson said, shooting Stark a pointed look. Tony lifted his hands in mock surrender but mimed someone getting choked over Coulson’s shoulder.

“Bucky wouldn’t hurt me.” Steve said.

“That’s not Bucky!” Tony said, “ _That_ is a Russian mafia hitman who was ‘this close’ to putting me six feet under.” Tony held his fingers mere millimeters apart for emphasis.

“He also fought for this country.” Steve insisted. “I know for a fact he’s more loyal to us than he is to the Mironovs.”

“You know for a fact, huh?” Challenged Tony, “And how, pray tell, do you know that? A lot of things can change a man’s mind. You haven’t seen him in years, Steve. You have no idea who he’s loyal to.”

“Tony’s right,” Coulson said, gathering up some files. “We’re proceeding as usual. Same time tomorrow.”

Agent Coulson locked up his high-tech briefcase with a fingerprint scanner and smiled sadly at Steve.

“I’m sorry. I know he was your friend, but this is the way things have to be.”

 

***

Steve chopped the carrots angrily, barely missing his thumb. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Bucky, HYDRA, Agent Coulson, Tony Stark, and Sokovia. Coulson had offered him a room at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base while he was still involved with the interrogations. Steve had been tempted to take it, but being in a cell (even an unlocked one) at a secretive government organization’s base was a little _much_ for him. It had only been two days since Coulson came to his apartment, after all. He needed some time to process it all.

The carrot soup was coming along well. His mother used to make it when he was sick or stressed. And Steve was definitely stressed right now. He let the carrots boil while he went to change, choosing to put on his favourite worn-out jeans and a Mets t-shirt. Steve rummaged through the box near his bed, certain he’d put more photos in there. Maybe there would be some good ones to show Bucky tomorrow. There were three framed pictures, two of Steve and his mom, and one with Steve on his motorcycle, smiling at someone else on a motorcycle next to him. That was Bucky, for sure. Steve recognized the veteran’s jacket he got after he got back from Syria.

“Steve? Dude, where you at?” Sam called from the entrance. Steve heard the door close behind him. Steve was already having doubts that giving Sam the spare key to his apartment had been a good idea.

“One sec!” He called, taking the picture out of the frame and putting it in his pants pocket.

“You left your carrots on, man.” Sam said, taking the lid off the pot.

“I know,” said Steve, “they’re boiling.” Sam nodded and observed the mess that was Steve’s counter space and entire kitchen.

“Can you even cook?” Sam asked. Steve squared his shoulders but felt a light heat growing in his neck and cheeks.

“Sort of.” He said. Sam laughed.

“You okay, Cap?” Sam asked, gesturing to the recipe for carrot soup. Ever since Sam and Steve had known each other, Steve had only made carrot soup three times. Once after Peggy left, once after Bucky was deployed, and once after the Colombia article.

“I’ll be fine,” said Steve, “don’t worry about me.”

“You’re making _carrot soup_. That’s the crisis soup, man. What’s up?” Sam leaned against the counter, blocking Steve’s access to the stove.

“Do you remember Bucky Barnes?” Steve asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Nevertheless, he could feel the change in Sam’s energy.

“Broke-your-heart-when-he-left-and-never-contacted-you-after-his-second-deployment Bucky Barnes?” The distaste on Sam’s face was clear.

“There’s more to it than that, Sam. He’s my oldest friend.”

“He ghosted you for _two years_ and then left for Sokovia without saying goodbye.”

“That’s not exactly how it-”

“No, that is exactly how it happened.” Sam said. “Bucky Barnes was a selfish, petty coward who got angry when he found out you were attractive, successful, and didn’t need him anymore.”

Steve sighed angrily and massaged the back of his neck. He knew to take everything Sam said with a few grains of salt. Sam had always been protective, and had very strong opinions about most people in Steve’s life. There was more to it than that, he was sure of it. Bucky had been his best and only friend for most of his childhood. Steve liked to think that had meant as much to Bucky as it did to him, that he didn’t mean to hurt Steve by cutting off communication. Something major must have happened after his second tour in Syria, it was the only explanation that made sense.

“You came back from Iraq a little different than when you left. Maybe Bucky did, too.” Steve shrugged. Sam scoffed.

“A _little_ different? Shit, Steve. Why all this talk about Bucky, all of a sudden? You haven’t heard from him in, what, like 8 years?”

“I can’t really talk about it.” Steve said, pushing his way past Sam to take his carrots out of the pot and transferring them to the food processor. Sam was quiet while the machine whirred, but Steve could see the argument brewing under the surface.

“I don’t want to speak badly of the presumed dead or whatever, but Bucky was bad news even before Syria. You’re better off without him.”

“You didn’t know him like I did, Sam.” Steve explained, “Bucky was there when… When I had no one else, I had Bucky.”

Sam sighed and absently stirred Steve’s soup. He frowned like a disappointed parent.

“I know he means a lot to you, Cap. But did you ever stop to think that maybe you didn’t mean as much to him as he did to you?” Sam’s voice was soft, but his words stung nonetheless.

Steve tried to recall some of the milestones of his and Bucky’s friendship. Was it possible that the whole thing was more one-sided than Steve had thought? Sure, he’d been an annoying little punk at times and had definitely cost Bucky some popularity points, but Bucky hadn’t been the easiest person to deal with, either. Steve had always had to be the relationship clean-up guy as Bucky went through girls and sometimes guys at breakneck speed. He’d also had to bail him out of gambling debt more often than he could count. They’d made sacrifices for each other and put each other through the wringer, but Steve had to admit that it had been a pretty equal deal.

“No.” Steve replied. “That’s not how it was.”

“If you say so.” Sam shrugged.

Steve fought the urge to snap back and say something about how Sam wouldn’t understand what it was like to have someone like Bucky in his life and then lose them, but thought better of it. Instead, Steve just took his soup off the stove and ladled himself a giant bowl of it. The more comfort food, the more comfort he’d get. And God only knew he needed a lot of that right now.

“But, seriously, dude?” Sam said, taking a seat at the cluttered table and making himself a bowl of soup. “What’s got you thinking about Barnes?” His eyebrows were creased with concern. Steve sighed and stirred his soup distractedly.

“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone, okay?” Steve said, lowering his voice unconsciously. What if Coulson had bugged his apartment? He had the sudden mental image of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Military Police breaking down his door.

“My lips are sealed.” Sam said.

“Bucky’s alive.” Steve looked into his soup to avoid looking at Sam’s reaction. He could hear Sam choke on his soup.

“What? How do you know that?” Sam asked. Steve cleared his throat and picked at the hem of his Mets t-shirt. It had gotten pretty small on him but he couldn't make himself get rid of it. “And if you say you ‘just know’ again, I swear to god-”

“I saw him.”

“What? Where? Wait… _When_?” Sam spluttered. Steve sighed again.

“Yesterday. And today. And probably again tomorrow.”

“ _Dude._ ” Sam’s eyes widened until they were pretty much the size of a cartoon character’s. “Why am I just hearing about this if you saw him yesterday? And how the hell does no one else know about this? Oh, and… _what the fuck_?”

“It’s a lot. I know.” Steve said.

“So how did this happen?”

“He’s in jail, Sam.” Steve blurted, praying no one had bugged his apartment. If it was even possible, Sam’s eyes widened further.

“Jesus Christ, Steve. You know, I think this is karma for me thinking your life was boring.”

“Hey! I’ve been permanently kicked out of 3 countries and my supposedly dead childhood best friend is now alive and being accused of murder. I don’t call that boring!”

“Bucky killed someone?”

“Allegedly.” Steve said, though his voice was unnaturally weak.

“Holy shit, he did? He's bad news.  See, I told you. Bad goddamn news.”

“Language, please.” Steve requested, more out of habit than anything. And Sam didn't have to say 'I told you so'. Steve was well aware of how bad this situation was.

“So you went to visit him?”

“He doesn’t remember me, Sam. His memories… I don’t know, he must have hit his head when he lost his arm. Probably an IED blast or something...” Steve frowned and ate some more carrot soup. It wasn’t nearly as good as the kind his mom used to make. He knew he was missing a lot of the spices, but couldn’t for the life of him figure out which ones.

“Let me get this straight. Bucky gets caught in a warzone, is presumed dead, somehow loses an arm and his memories, and then kills people? _Holy shit, Steve_. This is insane.”

“Believe me, I know.” Steve said, running a hand through his hair. _And also he was employed by the most dangerous crime family in Eastern Europe as a hitman, in case that’s important or anything._

“I officially take it back. You may not have gone to war, but your life sure isn’t boring.”

Steve cracked a smile and finished his soup, reaching into his pocket to run his thumb along the photo of he and Bucky. That motorcycle trip had been exactly what he’d needed after his first break-up with Peggy. He remembered Bucky being a little _off_ during the trip, but hadn’t noticed any particular red flags that could explain why the second deployment had suddenly made Steve _persona non grata_. Steve doubted it was anything as petty as Sam had suggested. Bucky had been surprised that Steve had been flourishing at NYU, grown taller, and had started putting on major muscle while he was gone, but Steve would be willing to bet his life that whatever pushed Bucky away had been a lot more major than jealousy. Steve had been jealous of Bucky for most of their teenagerhood, but that had never been an issue.

Steve served himself the remainder of the carrot soup, hoping it would help him process his thoughts. It was as if all the memories and feelings about Bucky that he’d locked away since they’d lost contact had suddenly flooded back into his mind. His brain was a slideshow of _Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes: Best Moments_. Steve realized he needed something a lot stronger than carrot soup.

 

Steve was not the type to get drunk. He’d had a few wild nights in college that had resulted in some video footage he’d prefer never to see again in his life, but it was certainly not a habit. And sure, there’d been the few times he drank himself blackout after Peggy broke up with him for the third and final time and Bucky left for Sokovia and he had no one left... but that was a long time ago! Steve had his *stuff* together now. He was successful (not so much right now, but at least he had a good career to look back on… right?), attractive (even though nowadays that seemed to scare the nice girls away more than anything), his best friend was alive (but didn’t remember him and would probably spend the rest of his life in jail), his other best friend was here for him… Steve’s life wasn’t that bad.

Steve looked into the bottom of his empty glass, swirling the last smidgen of beer that never seemed to be able to make it out. Who was he kidding, his life was a wreck. His only job now was trying to make his ex-hitman buddy remember him and trust him just so he could spill some incriminating information to S.H.I.E.L.D. that would most likely land Bucky in a high-security prison for life. And if Steve said no to helping the government, his life would be destroyed anyway because he’d never find work again and would slowly deplete his funds and starve to death. Besides, if Steve backed out, S.H.I.E.L.D. would just find a way to force the information from Bucky, which Steve would try to avoid at all costs.

“Oh man, I think I’m drunk.” He said to no one in particular. Sam had left a few hours ago, before Steve had started on the six-pack that was now nothing but a bunch of empty bottles strewn around the apartment. Then Steve had started on the stuff in the box under the kitchen sink. The ‘things are bad’ box he’d put three layers of duct tape on as a deterrent. He was halfway through a bottle of some vodka he’d picked up in Ukraine when he realized he was trashed.  

That hadn’t been his intention. Steve had gained a reputation as being a moral, upstanding citizen, not a guy who cried in his apartment with a bottle of vodka in one hand and pictures of his loved ones in the other. That guy was a mess. That guy was not Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers was top of his class at NYU, Captain America the social justice warrior, the kind man with an abundance of love in his heart but no one to give it to… _Aw jeez, here we go again_ … Steve put his head in his hands and turned the picture of he and Bucky between his fingers over and over again. The ones of his parents and grandparents and Peggy laid at his feet, along with the last remaining copy of the Sokovia-Russia article that had cost him his career. It was like a shrine to everything he’d lost.

“Get your shit together.” Steve whispered to himself, not caring about his own profanity. It felt surprisingly good to say the real thing. He tried to remember the pep talks he used to give to others all the time, the ones where he’d talk about how everything would be okay and the situation would eventually work out. It didn’t sound so convincing now as it did then.

Since Steve had already guaranteed himself a killer hangover in the morning, the best course of action was probably drinking water until he felt sick, swallowing down enough Advil to soothe a concussion, and sleeping in all the way until he had to go back to the base. He stumbled to his room and ripped off his jeans before slipping into bed and passing out almost immediately. The photo of Steve and Bucky on their motorcycles, depicting the last time they’d truly laughed together, remained between his fingers all night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's gonna be pretty intense so ... yeah, just thought I'd put that out there.


	4. Codename: Winter Soldier, Session 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve bargains for some alone time with Bucky and finds out more than he wanted to know. In Bucky's next interrogation session, things go horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! Thanks everyone for reading/kudos-ing/commenting/etc! I love you guys. 
> 
>  
> 
> Btw things sort of go to shit so... be prepared I guess ;)

It was six o’clock in the morning when Steve’s phone rang. On any normal morning, he would have been mildly annoyed; the caffeine addict in Steve required his morning cup of joe in order to be fully awake. This morning, though, was not a normal morning. Steve’s head was pounding and he felt slightly nauseous. He hadn’t felt a hangover this serious in ages. He immediately reminded himself that this was why he didn’t drink anymore. One of the reasons, at least.

Irritated, Steve let the phone ring and ring. He covered his pounding head with a pillow and groaned. There was a picture on the pillow next to him. _Why the heck is there a photo in my bed?_ Steve sighed gratefully as his ringtone quieted. Perhaps now he could sleep until his head wasn’t swimming anymore.

_DRINGGGG!_

Steve shouted into his pillow before swinging his legs out of bed. He grabbed his cell before it went to voicemail for the third time.

“What is it?” Steve asked groggily. If someone felt the need to keep calling until he answered, then it must have been serious.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Bruce Banner from S.H.I.E.L.D. I… uh… I really think you should come down here.” Dr. Banner sounded urgent, but also slightly uncomfortable. That made Steve’s stomach knot up even more.

“Is it about Bucky?” He asked, his heart skipping a beat.

“Well, sort of. Listen, I can’t explain it right now but I - there’s something you need to see.”

“m'kay… I’m on my way.”

Steve stood up slowly and immediately had to sit back down. He needed a cold shower, fresh air, and a whole lot more Advil. He opened all the windows in his apartment and drank as much water as he could before showering in record speed. If this news about Bucky was important, he would want to get there before Coulson and Rumlow showed up at 9 o’clock. It didn’t seem like much information was “need-to-know” enough for Steve lately, and that was starting to bother him.

Steve made his coffee and a bagel to go and put on the nearest jeans and t-shirt he could find. His mind raced with all the possible scenarios that could come of Dr. Banner’s phone call. Maybe it was something that would clear Bucky’s name. Or maybe that man wasn’t even Bucky… _Okay, that’s a little too far_. Perhaps the doctor found a way to get his memory back! Steve was practically running by the time he got to the subway. Whatever it was, he needed to know and neither Coulson nor Tony could get in his way.

 

“What am I looking at, Dr. Banner?”

“You can call me Bruce, if you want.” The doctor answered. He was a fair bit shorter and smaller than Steve, with short, curly brown hair and glasses. Banner - Bruce - almost seemed dwarfed by his oversized lab coat.

“Steve Rogers, but Steve is fine.” Steve offered in return. He hoped to God that Tony hadn’t already gotten Bruce hooked on calling him ‘Cap’. He had enough of that with Sam and Stark, he didn’t need any more reminders of his dead career.

“I took blood samples from the Winter Soldier, as well as some brain scans.” Dr. Banner explained, gesturing to different computer screens. None of the images meant anything to Steve, so he let the doctor explain while he sipped on his coffee, his head still pounding. Even his eyes hurt from the fluorescent lights. He vowed never to get drunk again.

“What’s interesting is that I found some sort of drug in his bloodstream,” Banner explained, “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s some sort of psychotropic… Nothing legal, that’s for sure.”

“What does it do?” Steve asked. Banner blushed slightly.

“Right. Sorry. Uh… psychotropic drugs induce amnesia. They… uh… well, they erase or suppress memories. Depends on how strong they are.”

“So that’s how Bucky’s memories were erased?”

“Not exactly.” Banner said, swiping across the screen to reveal Bucky’s brain scans. “I think that’s how the memory loss was maintained, but the initial problem is right around here.” Banner zoomed in on a section of the brain. Still, that meant nothing to Steve.

“I’m sorry. I still don’t know what I’m looking at.”

“There’s been a fair bit of trauma to the frontal and anterior temporal regions as well as the hippocampus.” Banner explained, moving the screen around and pointing at things that Steve nodded at and pretended to comprehend. It was all going over his head.

“Do you know what caused it?”

“I’m guessing some of it came from the same blast that blew off the Soldier’s arm.” Banner pulled up a few more files. Steve didn’t miss the large letters spelling out ‘confidential’. He took another sip of coffee, hoping that would repress some of the rising guilt.

“You can call him Sergeant Barnes, you know, now that we all know his name.” Steve supplied. He hated hearing Bucky referred to as the _Winter Soldier_. It sounded so… Well, it didn’t sound like Bucky, that was for sure.

“Uh… sure… of course.” Bruce shrugged. “Well, while I’m attributing most of Sergeant Barnes’ injuries to the initial blast, there was clearly some ongoing trauma to the brain to prevent the healing process.”

“So someone was _trying_ to repress his memories?” Steve asked, peering over Bruce’s shoulder and pulling out half of his bagel. Bruce looked at it enviously.

“That’s my guess, but I have to send the results off to HQ. They’ll decide what to do with the information.” Bruce said.

Steve folded the paper bag that held the second half of his bagel numerous times, then unfolded it again and started over. So HYDRA had purposefully kept Bucky from regaining his memories? What kind of sick bastards would do that? Steve realized his teeth were grinding when he got a sudden pain in his jaw.

“That’s not the most interesting part,” Bruce said, “With this sort of damage and watching the video footage and everything… Barnes was pretty much a blank slate. It’s almost as if he was reprogrammed. Like a computer.”

“What?” Steve tried not to let his eyes narrow too much, but hearing Bucky compared to a hunk of technology set his teeth on edge.

“I mean, well… our brains are basically computers, right? Just complicated, fleshy ones. But if you change the programming, which I guess would be loyalty or purpose, then the same input as before now generates a very different output.” Bruce shot Steve an awkward half-smile and adjusted his glasses. His eyes shone with pride.

“Okay… so…” Steve raised his eyebrows, a slight heat of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He thought he understood what Banner meant, but needed to be absolutely sure. It was about Bucky, after all.

“So, Barnes was a soldier, right? Well, if he doesn’t remember being loyal to the U.S military, but is a naturally loyal guy-” Banner paused to watch for Steve’s reaction. Steve nodded in confirmation. Bucky was as loyal as they came. “Well, reprogram his loyalties and you’ve got yourself a Winter Soldier.”

“But that’s impossible.”

“Not if you’ve got the technology.” Banner’s face lit up with excitement as he accessed the live footage of Bucky’s cell where the man was sleeping. Steve’s heart hurt. Bucky looked so peaceful, so unlike the man that showed up at the interrogation table.

“Just take a look at that arm, Steve,” Banner said, “even Stark was impressed with that tech. It’s probably the most advanced prosthetic we’ve ever seen!”

“Yeah, but making an arm and controlling someone’s mind aren’t exactly the same thing.” Steve said. His eyes were still glued to the monitor, watching Bucky’s chest rise and fall.

“No, they’re not. But it’s not as big of a stretch as you’d think.” Banner flipped the monitor off and Steve was left looking at his own reflection instead.

“But this is huge, right? You can prove that Bucky wasn’t in control and that he’s not really a criminal! He can be released.” Steve said.

“Ahhh… I wish it was that simple.” Banner grimaced in apology. “I’m not an expert and these are just my theories. Considering how high-profile some of his crimes were, a lot of people want to see Barnes behind bars for good.”

“Enough to ignore the fact that he was _brainwashed_?” Steve demanded.

“No, but enough to disprove some of my theories.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Steve argued. Banner sighed and took off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose.

“Uh...there’s a slight difference, I guess,” Bruce said, “Once I show this stuff to Coulson, he’ll call in all the psychiatric analysts he can find and get a team of brain specialists in here. They might agree with me, they might not.”

“Depends on whose payroll they’re on.” Steve grumbled. Bruce’s eyes flickered to the security camera in the corner. He shot Steve a pointed look, warning and fear etched on his face.

“This is S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve. We’re the good guys.” Bruce seemed like he was trying too hard not to glance at the camera again. He kept shifting his gaze downward in an effort not to look suspicious. The result was even more suspicious.

“I wanted to let you know first so that you could ask the Winter Soldier - sorry, Sergeant Barnes - point blank. Maybe then my theory’ll seem more reliable.”

“He won’t tell me anything with cameras and microphones pointed at him.” Steve shook his head. An apologetic smile spread across his features as he lowered his gaze slightly to meet Bruce’s. Banner’s jaw fell slightly and his eyes took on a pleading quality.

“Please don’t ask what I think you’re gonna ask.”

“Just one conversation. That’s it.”

“I’ll get fired, Steve.” Banner whined, dropping into one of the office chairs. Steve took one opposite him, rolling it so that his back was to the security camera.

“Coulson isn’t here yet. I could visit Bucky outside his cell and just talk.” Steve set his elbows on his knees and leaned in towards Dr. Banner.

“There’s still cameras-”

“A five minute power failure. That’s all I need.”

“The backup generator comes on in three.” Banner said, his knee bumping up and down nervously. “I’d need to run this by Coulson, or at least Tony. I don’t know, it seems really unsafe and I don’t even have the security clearance to-”

“Please, Bruce,” Steve said. Bruce sighed and groaned.

“Oh, god. Coulson is gonna kill me if I do this, man. You’re not a S.H.I.E.L.D. member, not even a military-”

“Three minutes! Just three minutes alone with Bucky. He’s behind bars! Couldn't hurt me even if he tried.” Steve said. He knew Bucky would never hurt him, but also knew that wasn’t what Dr. Banner wanted to hear. Bruce sighed nervously again, pulling at his hair and rubbing his chin and the back of his neck.

“I guess I could…” His eyes glanced upwards, moving around as if he were doing imaginary calculations. “Tony’s set to come in in less than an hour, so if we’re gonna do this, we’ve got to do it now.”

 

***

 

Steve scanned the keycard Banner gave him and pushed through the door to the cell block. There were no windows down here, and everything was made of reinforced cement. The individual cells were spaced far apart, a thick concrete wall separating each one. The bars were reinforced steel as thick as Steve’s wrist. Banner had told him that an automated lockdown mechanism was in place to that if the bars sensed a certain amount of pressure, they would become electrified. Steve swallowed hard as he made his way down the hallway. Bucky’s cell was thankfully the only one occupied, but seeing his old friend in a place like this made his skin crawl.

“Bucky?” Steve called as he padded down the hallway. He tried to keep his movements slow and predictable, as if this were a casual visit he had no idea was prohibited. He heard a light rustling of sheets and then a metal _clunk_ as Bucky grabbed the cell bars.

“Steve?” Bucky asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?” He glanced around nervously, first at the cameras, then at the door at the end of the hall. He gave Steve a quick once-over.

“We had to talk alone.” Steve said. Bucky clenched his jaw.

“We’re not alone.” Bucky inclined his head towards the camera staring at him from across the hall.

“Don't worry, we will be.” The look of confusion barely had time to register on Bucky’s face when the hallway was plunged into darkness. The emergency red lights came on seconds later.

“Steve, what’s-”

“The backup generator comes on in three minutes, so you better talk fast.” Steve said. Bucky nodded quickly.

“Listen, I’m starting to get my memory back,” Bucky started, “and I don’t know how I know this, but we can’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just… I think it’s about the drug. The Mironovs injected me with something every time I started remembering - ” Bucky swallowed hard, his eyes taking on a distant quality.

“You think S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to replicate it?” Steve said, guiding the conversation back.

“I’m not sure. ” Bucky said, chewing at his bottom lip.

It was a possibility, Steve supposed. If he knew the U.S government, they didn’t like it when the Russians had technology they didn’t. A drug that powerful could be invaluable to an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.. It would make erasing the knowledge of confidential information a piece of cake.

Steve met Bucky’s eyes. The red lights in the hallway were reflected in the blue of Bucky’s irises. Steve was almost too mesmerized by it to realize that Bucky looked terrified.

“If you tell me exactly what HYDRA did to you, we can prove you weren’t in control when you tried to kill Stark. We can prove that it wasn’t really you!”

“But it _was_ me.”

“I saw the brain scans, Buck! They…” Steve could hardly make himself say it out loud. “They _made_ you do those things.” Steve put his hands on the bars next to Bucky’s, letting his pinky rest against Bucky’s index finger. He almost let out a sigh when Bucky didn’t pull away.

“It was still my finger on the trigger, Steve.” Bucky whispered. He looked so guilty that Steve wished he’d asked Banner to unlock the cell, too. Steve had never wanted to hug someone more in his entire life than right then.

“Why did the Mironov family want Tony Stark dead?” Steve said, forcing his mind to stay on the topic at hand.

“It’s complicated… But you know that article you wrote? You were right.”

“The U.S is still supplying weapons to the Sokovian government?”

“Sort of. But… I could get killed for telling you this, you know. If they find out it was me...”

Bucky’s voice broke but he took a few shaky breaths to calm himself. Bucky cleared his throat and shot Steve a slightly embarrassed half-smile. It was the same one that would appear when he was trying to avoid talking about something that upset him, be it his first deployment or that time he threw up on a girl he brought home from the dance club.

“I only know what I found out from targets,” Bucky said, his jaw clenching and relaxing. “But supposedly S.H.I.E.L.D. - Stark - also supplied weapons to HYDRA. ”

“Wait, why? Why supply weapons to the mafia? What would that accomplish?”

“I don’t know! No one exactly invited me to their evil plotting sessions.” Bucky snapped. Despite the topic of conversation, Steve cracked a smile at Bucky's words. He was starting to sound more and more like the Brooklyn boy Steve remembered.

“But... HYDRA isn’t only in Sokovia. The Kovac family’s Sokovian, sure, but the Valilievs are from Belarus, and the Mironovs are Russian. Selling to HYDRA would be supplying the Russians _and_ the Sokovians. Why would Stark wanna do that?” said Steve. Bucky sighed and looked up at Steve with a tired expression. Steve could almost imagine him saying: _do I_ look _like Tony Stark to you, pal?_ Steve cracked a sad, wistful smile.

"I don’t know about Stark, but..." Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head against the metal bars, humming as he tried to remember. "'Order through chaos'. That’s what they used to say all the time. Whatever that's supposed to mean."

"M'kay..." Steve exhaled slowly as he tried to process, but his heart was still racing, reminding him he was on a tight schedule. "Then why kill their own supplier?"

Bucky frowned and shook his head slightly.

“What could Stark have done to piss them off?” Steve tried again.

This time, Bucky’s mouth fell open slightly, the way it often did when he was remembering something. His eyes shifted from the floor to a spot near Steve’s shoulder, as if he were ashamed to look him in the eye.

“My first mission was Anton Shepokev. He was an arms dealer who double crossed the Mironovs.” Bucky flexed his metal fingers, his eyelids fluttering shut for a moment. “If Stark really sold to the Sokovian government while supplying the Mironovs, I'm not surprised they wanted him dead. They don’t take betrayal lightly.”

Steve checked his watch. Two minutes had already gone by. He wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans. The way Bucky’s metal fingers moved almost like real ones was mesmerizing, and Steve was reminded of his and Banner’s earlier conversation.

“Did they give you that arm? HYDRA?” Steve asked, his fingers brushing against the cold metal. Bucky pulled his hand back and shoved it in his pocket.

“Not without a price.” He said quietly, his jaw working.

“They made you their hitman to pay back the debt, didn’t they?” Steve’s jaw dropped. Bucky shrugged.

“I’m guessing that’s how it started.” He answered.

Steve could figure out the rest for himself. He could imagine Bucky, confused and injured, with no recollection of his past, being told that if he completed his mission he’d get to keep the prosthetic arm. With his fight training and his great shot, Bucky would have been the perfect candidate. Then came what Dr. Banner had said, _reprogramming_. Once they saw what Bucky was capable of, no wonder they wanted to keep him around to do their dirty work.

“I’m so sorry, Buck. For everything.” Steve said. Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“You didn't do anything.” Bucky said. Steve smiled sadly.

That was exactly the problem. Steve did nothing. He wallowed in self-pity for a while when Bucky cut off contact and then pushed his old friend out of his mind when he left for Sokovia. Steve had to hear about Bucky’s departure from Sam. In Steve’s mind, that had been a sign Bucky wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

But why hadn’t Steve tried to reach out when the 107th came home? Then he would’ve realized Bucky was missing… Steve tried to imagine himself going back to Sokovia, pretending to write another article but really trying to track down Bucky. That’s what he wished had happened; That’s what a good friend would have done. Bucky deserved a friend like that, not a lazy coward like Steve.

“Listen, Buck, the next time we’re in the interrogation room, I need you to explain how they controlled you, okay? I need you to tell me about the drugs and the ‘therapy’ and the arm. I need you to say all of that so they can hear it.”

“But I told you already, we can’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D.” Bucky repeated. Steve had a nagging feeling that these fears were simply leftovers from whatever the Mironovs had conditioned him to think.

“I’ll handle S.H.I.E.L.D. You just need to convince them that it wasn’t you.”

“Then whose memories are in my fucking head?” Bucky snapped. Steve flinched back at the sudden venom in his voice and took a deep breath.

“They were controlling you, Bucky. Whatever you did, you couldn’t help it. Once Coulson sees that, he might agree to let you go.” Steve explained, trying to mask his excitement. Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together.

“He shouldn’t.”

“Bucky-”

The hallway was suddenly flooded with light. Steve covered his eyes immediately, the searing pain in his head reminding him that he was still hung over. When he opened his eyes again, Bucky was lying down on his bed again, pretending to be fast asleep. Steve decided to leave the bag with half a bagel in it. He slid it between the bars and pushed it over to the middle of the cell floor. He saw Bucky’s eyelids flutter and hoped he’d like it.

 

“What the hell did you do?” Tony’s voice was the first thing Steve heard upon leaving the cell block.

“I told you, I needed to talk to him alone.”

“That wasn’t your call to make!” Tony shouted.

“But it had to be made.” Steve said.

“Don’t pull your high-and-mighty crap with me, Cap. You’re way out of your depth with this thing.”

“Coulson needs to know Bucky was being controlled. This changes everything.” Steve insisted.

“You’ll believe anything the Soldier tells you, won’t you? Just cause he looks like your kid best friend?” The disdain in Tony’s voice made Steve bristle.

“It’s still Bucky. He’ll get the rest of his memories back soon and then he’ll explain everything. You’ll see, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes gravitated to the keycard pinned on Steve’s shirt.

“I’ll take that.” Stark said, holding out his hand. Steve sheepishly handed him the card, feeling far too much like a scolded child.

“What did he say in there?” Tony asked, glancing at the cell block door. _Quite a bit about you_. Steve had a million questions for Tony, but thought it was maybe best to focus on Bucky first. There was no use confronting Tony Stark when Bucky’s fate was still in his hands. The less Bucky seemed to know, the better.

“He talked about the Mironovs mostly. I can write it down if it helps. I still remember most of it.”

“He’s playing you, Cap.” Tony said, shaking his head.

“And what about you?” Steve retorted. Tony tilted his head to the side with an amused half-smile. _So much for holding off confrontation_.

“Indulge me.” Tony said with a wave of his hand. Steve let out a frustrated sigh.

“What do you think about Sokovia? And please, don’t joke around about this.” Steve said. He’d spent a lot of time in Sokovia. He’d seen first-hand what those people were going through. If Tony thought he could brush this off with a few quips, he was sadly mistaken.

“It’s a failed state.” He said, blunt as ever.

“And  - what? - burning it to the ground is gonna fix it?”

“They’re doing that themselves, Cap.” Tony said, his gaze level.

“With weapons provided by our government, and manufactured by your company.” Steve said. Tony scoffed.

“It’s an intervention, Rogers.” Tony explained. “It’s no different than Iraq or Afghanistan, just less direct. Go ‘Boy Scout’ on me all you want, but _you’re_ the one who tried to enlist in the U.S military. You clearly didn’t have a problem with our methods back then.”

Steve swallowed a lump in his throat. He racked his brain for something to say, anything that would prove him wrong. Steve came up short.

“Don’t try to paint me as the bad guy, here.” Tony said.

“Let me guess, Buck’s the bad guy?” Steve challenged, the hair on his neck raising.

“The infamous mafia hitman who deserted the U.S Army and has almost a dozen confirmed kills? Yeah, I think so.” Tony said.

He pushed past Steve and began to walk towards the interrogation room, pulling out his phone to check his texts along the way. His shoulders were squared and he refused to look at Steve.

“Tony-”

“End of conversation.” Tony said. Steve started again and Stark held up a hand. “See how my back is turned to you and I’m on my phone, clearly ignoring you? Those are social cues that we’re -”

“HYDRA controlled him, Tony! I can prove it.”

“Jesus Christ, Cap! You’re like FOX News during election season! You’re so goddamn biased you can’t see what’s right in front of your face!” Tony threw his hands in the air.

“Then how do you explain the brain scans? The blood tests? What, you think he made those up?” Steve demanded. Tony’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tony asked.

Stark hesitated for a second before spinning on his heel and starting down the hallway towards Dr. Banner’s lab. Steve was a few steps behind, a bad feeling creeping up his spine.

“Ask Dr. Banner, he has the results.” Steve said, his voice distant. The cold dread in his stomach wasn’t going away.

Tony put an arm out to stop Steve and sniffed the air.

“Why do you smell like booze?” Tony asked with a wry smile. One eyebrow quirked mischievously.

“It was a long night.” Was Steve’s reply. A small prick of embarrassment made its way up his spine.

Tony shrugged, the stupid smile never leaving his face. Their footsteps echoed down the hall towards Dr. Banner’s lab.

Tony threw open the doors to the lab with the sort of authority that only a billionaire genius like Tony Stark could have.

“Banner?” He called. Tony turned to Steve, “you saw him this morning, you said?”

“Yes. He’s the one who shut off the power.”

“Banner, get your nerdy ass out here.” Tony called out.

Steve shifted, straightening out his shoulders. His headache was coming back with a vengeance.

“What’s up, Tony?” Bruce asked, coming out of the bathroom. Steve let out a sigh.

“I’ve been told you have some brain scans to show me.” Tony said, hopping up on one of the counters. Bruce opened his mouth as if to say something about it, but then just sighed.

“Don’t knock anything over.” Banner said, powering up his computer. “Like I told Steve, I really shouldn’t be showing you guys this stuff without the Director’s approval.”

“You say that every time.” Tony waved his hand in dismissal.

“I’m serious this time! This throws the death penalty chances out the window, for sure.”

“Death penalty?” Steve whipped his head around to look at Tony, who raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not the justice system.” Tony said. “Or the criminal.” He muttered under his breath. Steve glared at him again. He wasn’t too sure about the latter. Supplying weapons to organized criminal groups wasn’t Steve’s idea of _legal_.

“That’s rich coming from you.” Steve said.

“What was that, Cap?”

“You heard me.”

“Uh… Guys…” Banner started, opening file after file on his computer. Each one offered the same error message.

“‘Error: Security Level 10 Required’?” Tony read off the screen. “Well, that’s new.”

“This definitely wasn’t here before,” Bruce explained, opening each file in the folder marked _winter_soldier_ until the screen was a mess of error messages.

“Can you override it?” Steve asked. He’d seen it done in movies all the time, and Steve and Tony seemed like they were pretty good with computers.

“A Level 10 override requires a retinal scan from the Director himself. Not happening.” Tony said. He pulled up a chair from another workstation and sat next to Banner, slowly boxing him out of the desk. His fingers were flying across the keyboard, but the error messages remained. Steve’s heart sank.

“So, what, the files are gone?” Steve asked incredulously.

“As far as we’re concerned, yeah.” Banner said, “I’m sorry, Steve.”

 

***

 

Steve felt as if he were underwater as he trudged into the observation room behind the one-way mirror. Everything seemed to be moving too slowly, as if time itself were giving him the opportunity to escape and get his bearings back. Nevertheless, Steve stayed. He watched as Bucky was dragged into the interrogation room by four men, his heels digging into the ground. One of them had a bloody nose and Steve didn’t bother to hide the tiny, proud smile that played on his lips. That was the good old Bucky he knew.

“He seems agitated, today, sir.” Rumlow said, handing a file to Agent Coulson. It was sealed and marked ‘classified’, which only peaked Steve’s interest.

“Power outages sometimes have that effect.” Tony said nonchalantly, though the clear subcontext wasn’t missed by Steve.

Steve adjusted his earpiece and rehearsed his questions in his mind, piecing together what he thought would get Bucky to explain what happened in Sokovia. If he could just convince him to be honest about how they controlled him, maybe Coulson would finally understand.

Once Bucky was fully restrained at the table, Steve stretched out his shoulders and fixed the earpiece again before heading for the door. He was so distracted that he jumped nearly a foot in the air when he felt a strong hand grip his bicep.

“Not yet.” Rumlow’s voice breathed in his ear. Something about the look in the military policeman’s eyes sent a shudder through Steve’s body.

“Okay.” Steve agreed.

Rumlow held his hand out for the earpiece. Steve hesitated, but obliged him all the same.

“With all due respect, I think he’ll talk to me more than-”

“Oh, I think he’ll talk to me just fine.” Rumlow interrupted. “Thanks, Cap.” Rumlow smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Alright. Good luck.” Steve said, sending a tight smile of his own. He took a step back to give Rumlow the space to open the door.

Steve glanced over at Agent Coulson, hoping for some sort of explanation. The Agent gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement but had his attention fixed on Bucky, large headphones over his ears. Steve’s eyes gravitated towards Banner next, who stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, his lab coat undone. He fiddled nervously with the buttons and refused to meet Steve's eyes.

Steve exhaled slowly and sat next to Tony so he could still watch the interrogation take place.

“Cap.” He greeted.

“Stark.” Steve replied. The small smirk playing at Tony’s lips gave Steve the idea that this was becoming somewhat of a game between them, toeing the line between mutual respect and slight dislike.

Steve couldn’t help leaning forwards as Rumlow entered the interrogation room. He could see Bucky instinctively sit up defensively, his eyes darting around the room before settling cooly on Rumlow. A small shadow of disappointment passed over his face as he realized Steve was nowhere to be found.

That same feeling of dread that had been following Steve all morning suddenly intensified. Something was definitely wrong here…

 

***

 

Rumlow paced around the interrogation room, preferring to keep the Soldier on edge. He was also choosing not to speak at all until the Soldier did so first. That made him smile a little. He’d spent long hours in this room trying to get the stubborn bastard to talk, now it would be the other way around.

“Where’s Steve?” The Soldier asked. His shoulder muscles were tense and at the ready, his fingers twitching with pent up energy. Rumlow inwardly congratulated himself on making the Soldier nervous.

“No need to worry about that, солдат.” Rumlow said with a wave of his hand. He thought the Russian was a nice touch. He’d stayed up practicing the word, trying to get his mouth to make it sound as effortless as possible. Солдат. _Soldier_.

The Soldier’s whole body immediately tensed at the word, which sent a rush of adrenaline to Rumlow’s head. _Who’s in charge now, huh?_

“ _Bucky_ ,” he spat, “my name’s Bucky.” There wasn’t quite as much authority to his voice as he’d hoped. Rumlow ignored him.

“You remember those files I was talking about, right? The ones I said my associates would find sooner or later…” Rumlow paused for dramatic effect, watching the Soldier’s jaw work and eyes flicker to the one-way mirror.

“Well, we found them.” Rumlow said, dropping a file onto the table. It wasn’t nearly as relevant of a file as he was making it seem, but it seemed to be serving its purpose. Rumlow could almost feel the tension in the room increase.

“Lots of interesting stuff in here, солдат.” He pulled out a still from the security camera footage in Sokovia. It was undoubtedly James Buchanan Barnes, new arm and all, with a mask on the bottom half of his face and an assault rifle pointed at none other than Anton Shepokev.

The Soldier said nothing, just started guiltily down at the photo like a child caught stealing from the corner store.

“I bet your HYDRA buddies wish they’d deleted this stuff instead of keeping it. It’s all pretty incriminating, if I say so myself.” Rumlow continued, removing photo after photo from the manila folder. The Soldier’s chest heaved as his breathing quickened.

“Shit.” Barnes muttered under his breath. Rumlow cracked a smile and let it grow across his features.

“‘Shit’ is right. You’re straight-up fucked.” The MP pointed to the first picture on the left. “Afghanistan. You were pretty busy down there, huh? All the mission reports are heavily encrypted, but we’ve got the best minds working on it, so don’t worry, we’ll get that sorted out before the trial.

“But _this_ isn’t encrypted.”

Rumlow slapped another picture on top on that one. It depicted the same man Barnes had had his gun trained on, except now with a bullet in his forehead. The Soldier averted his gaze.

“You see, we thought we needed Steve to get this information out of you, but turns out that was just a fun bonus.” Rumlow said, finally taking a seat. His smile shone almost as bright as his eyes. He breathed out a sigh of relief. “Goddamn, this was a long time coming.”

“You hired Steve to get me to accidentally rat myself out?” Bucky said, his lips holding the ghost of an insolent smile.

“Surprised?”

“Not really,” said Bucky, “‘cause that would never work.” He glared daggers at Rumlow, who focused all his energy into keeping his gaze equally steady and forcing himself not to shift under the Soldier’s glare.

“As far as I know, it worked beautifully.” Rumlow whispered, giving the Soldier a lazy slap across the cheek.

Realization seemed to dawn on the Soldier’s face. His eyes widened, scanning the ground as if he were hoping words would appear there to convince him Rumlow was lying.

“Steve would never…”

“Why not? Is it ‘cause you’re his friend? His buddy? His _Bucky_?” Rumlow spat, leaning forward. He laughed and pulled a device from his pocket. Bucky’s teeth scraped along his bottom lip as he watched Rumlow turn it on. His blue-grey eyes were beginning to glaze over with emotion, the tiniest of tremors growing in his chin.

“‘ _My first mission was Anton Shepokev, an arms dealer who double crossed the Mironovs. It was me. It was still my finger on the trigger, Steve.’”_ The edited recording played. Bucky’s eye widened and welled up with tears of anger and betrayal.

“That’s not how it went,” Bucky protested. Rumlow’s smile grew.

“The courts won’t care.” He said. Bucky shook his head repeatedly, not believing what he’d just heard.

“That’s… no. Steve said -”

“Steve _lied_.” Rumlow said, savouring the moment that Bucky’s face fell. “That security card he was wearing, the clip had a recording device inside it. Smart, huh?”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open and his eyes became trained on his metal hand, watching the pieces fit together as it flexed and relaxed. _It’s not true. It can’t be true_ , Bucky thought. Steve said they were friends! The _best_ of friends. The tension in his shoulders dwindled as he realized that people like him didn’t have any friends. Steve had just been using him, just like everyone else.

“What, you thought he actually _cared_ about you, солдат?” Rumlow said. He barked out a harsh, derisive laugh. “You withstood weeks of physical torture just to be broken in two days by a guy with a few pictures and some fairytales. Fucking pathetic.”

“But I knew him.” Bucky said, his voice empty. His expression held nothing but resignation and self-loathing. _No one gives a shit about you_ , солдат, his mind shouted. He was an idiot for falling for that. Rumlow was right. All Steve had to do was show him some childhood pictures (that, for all he knew, weren’t even real) and suddenly Bucky was spilling all his secrets like the _useless, stupid piece of shit_ he was.

But part of him didn’t believe it. Steve had seemed so genuine… Either he was the best actor Bucky had ever encountered, or he’d been played, too. Whatever the case, Bucky was screwed. That much was undeniable.

Rumlow leaned back in his seat and observed his handiwork with sick satisfaction. The Soldier’s shoulders sagged, his previous defiance nowhere to be seen. His limp hair hung in front of his face, only partially obstructing Rumlow’s view of his shattered expression. _This_ was HYDRA’s best hitman? _This_ was the guy they’d trusted with the assassination of Tony Stark? Rumlow thought it was almost laughable.

“Hey, солдат, you wanna know what’s gonna happen next?” Rumlow asked, his voice brimming with excitement. That excitement was not reciprocated.

“You’ll be found guilty of something around 8 federal capital offenses. Then you’ll spend the rest of your life in a cell until they finally zap your ass to Hell!” Rumlow said. _Ooh, that rhymed,_ he mused.

Rumlow pulled a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it, standing up to read it aloud.

“Six counts of first degree murder (that we know of), murder of a foreign official, murder of a U.S national in a foreign country, murder for hire, murder in an airport serving international civil aviation -”

“Stop.” A broken voice requested.

Rumlow continued pacing around the table, his voice growing louder as he listed the offences.

“Murder related to a carjacking, treason, murder related to a continuing criminal enterprise. Not to mention a dishonorable discharge for murder and desertion-”

“Shut up!”

“You admitted it yourself, солдат, it was your finger on the trigger.”

Bucky clenched his teeth, feeling his jaw burn.

“I-” He struggled to find the right words. Steve’s advice echoed in his ears. _Just explain_ … But how could someone explain being tortured and forcefully injected with psychotropic drugs until you could do nothing but comply? Did the right words even exist?

Bucky’s breathing was slow and shaky, his breath rattling in his own ears.

“You’re right.” He finally choked. _I’m sorry, Steve_ . _It’s over_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... i'm sorry


	5. Codename: Winter Soldier, File Closed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a flashback and confronts Tony about the microphone. Bucky's trip to Washington D.C doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was too excited about this one not to update right away. Next chapter will be posted next Friday :) 
> 
> Note: The song Bucky sings in the flashback is a U.S Army cadence called 'I Left My Home'. It's a fun one. I recommend giving it a listen.

8 years earlier 

 

Steve’s half of the dorm room was sparsely furnished. He hadn’t had the money for much more than his basic clothes, a bedspread, and his ancient laptop that threatened to break his shoulder off if he tried to carry it with him anywhere. The only decorations were the sketches he’d drawn himself, a few writing awards he’d won, and a hideous houseplant Bucky had gotten him as a joke. He’d handed it to him with a wink. ‘ _ Keep Bernard safe _ ’, Bucky had said with a megawatt smile that would melt anyone’s heart. So Bernard had a place of honour in the window, and looking at it made Steve smile even though his heart hurt. 

That night, most people in the dorm had either gone home for the weekend or were out partying. Steve had the room to himself since his roommate, Sam, was spending the night at his girlfriend’s. 

Like most Friday nights, Steve was staying in to draw by lamplight. Tonight, his subject was that pretty brunette from his political history class.  _ Peggy _ . She was smart, so smart it left Steve speechless sometimes. They’d had a passionate argument in tutorial last week. Steve hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since. 

Steve had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t heard a loud knock on his door, followed by the sound of it swinging open. 

“Hope I’m not interruptin’. Someone told me the guy who lives here’s a real recluse but is just  _ dyin’  _ to go out tonight.” A familiar voice said. Steve’s eyes lit up and he was running at Bucky before he even realized what he was doing. 

“Oh my god, Bucky!” Steve said. Bucky laid his hands on both of Steve’s thin shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

“In the flesh!” Bucky said, offering a little twirl to show off his uniform. He playfully tipped his cap sideways. “What do you think? Straight, or tilted? I feel like the girls’ll love the tilt…” 

Of course Bucky was here to convince Steve to go out to the clubs with him. The simple familiarity of it spread warmth through Steve’s chest. But it was tinged with disappointment, because if Steve was completely honest, he’d much rather stay in his dorm room with Bucky and catch up on each other’s lives, maybe watch a movie on Netflix. 

“The ‘girls’ would love you even if you showed up naked.” Steve said with a wave of his hand. 

“You mean,  _ especially  _ if I showed up naked.” Bucky waggled his eyebrows. 

“That definitely came out wrong.” Steve tried to backtrack, his face growing red.  _ In a paper bag! That was the saying! Not naked! Goddammit, Steve! _

“So whaddya say, pal? One last night on the town?” Bucky said, his eyes shining with excitement. His signature smirk spread across his features. 

“What do you mean  _ last _ ?” Steve asked. A brief flash of guilt appeared in Bucky’s eyes, disappearing equally quickly. 

“I’m - uh - I’m shippin’ out tomorrow, Stevie. Gotta go stop a civil war, apparently.” He shrugged, giving a half-hearted two-fingered salute. The way Bucky’s eyes shifted to the floor told Steve that he’d been trying to avoid talking about this for as long as possible. Steve’s heart sank. 

“Oh. Tomorrow, really?” Steve asked, his voice distant. Bucky sighed and sat down on Steve’s bed, taking off his cap and folding it in his hands. 

“Yeah.” Bucky confirmed.

“Well, that was quick.” Steve said, taking a seat next to Bucky. Bucky offered him a small smile and a ‘ _ what can you do?’ _ sort of shrug. 

“Yeah, listen. I wish I’d come by more often but the Army… you know…” Bucky looked guiltily down at his cap. Steve thought he saw a bit of anxiety on Bucky’s face too, but it was gone as soon as he shot Steve a goofy smile and put his cap on his friend’s head. 

“Lookit you, soldier.” Bucky said, giving the cap a little tap so it tilted on Steve’s mop of blonde hair. Steve smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his clear blue eyes. 

“God, is any of that actually hair, or just pure grease?” Steve said, flicking the smoothed-down brown hair on Bucky’s head. It felt both hard and sticky. 

“Hey! Watch it!” Bucky said, feigning indignance. 

“I could pay my tuition with the money you spent on all that gel.” Steve laughed. Bucky smirked, poking his tongue out at Steve. 

“Wouldn’t’a come all this way if I knew you’d be ridin’ my ass like this.” Bucky shook his head in mock disappointment. Still, he couldn’t hide the way his eyes shone with mirth. 

“Jerk,” Said Steve.

“Punk.”

“Prick.”

“Asshole.” 

There was a moment of silence in which both boys reminisced, wondering what exactly had happened to make them drift apart. It was so easy, so refreshing, being together again. 

“C’mon. One last hoorah?” Bucky asked, turning on the famous Bucky Barnes charm. He grinned and tilted his head the slightest bit to the left, his eyes mischievously straddling the line between daring and begging. Steve sighed, looking over at his unfinished sketch. He could always finish it later… 

“What? None of your Army buddies wanted to babysit your drunk ass?” Steve asked with a smirk.

“Nah. Besides, they have 18 months to get sick of me,” Bucky said. His smile was so warm and earnest that Steve smirked and threw his hands up in the air. 

“Fine, fine! But only because I know you’d just do something stupid without me watching your six.” Steve finally agreed, opening his drawers to find a shirt more suitable for a night out. 

If he was honest, there wasn’t much point in putting effort into his appearance. He knew Bucky’s uniform would be an immediate magnet, and besides, no girls at bars were ever attracted to Steve, even though he’d grown nearly three inches in the last few months. He was still lanky and awkward, and couldn’t carry a conversation with a pretty girl without putting a foot (or two) in his mouth. Over the past few weeks, Steve had begun to go to the gym with Sam, but there hadn’t been any noticeable results thus far. 

“Yes! You won’t regret it, Stevie! We’ll find the hottest chicks and dance all night and get  _ hammered,  _ just like the old days!” Bucky said. Steve didn’t bother mentioning that the only one who did all those things when they went out was Bucky.

Bucky pushed Steve away from his own closet to look for a shirt himself, muttering something about taking too long. He threw Steve a blue, short-sleeved polo shirt. 

“Brings out your eyes,” Bucky said, “chicks dig blue eyes.” Steve groaned a little, but changed into it anyway, glancing over his shoulder to see Bucky eyeing him in an indecipherable way. Steve’s stomach knotted. Had Bucky’s eyes always held that  _ gleam _ when he looked at Steve, or was that new? 

“If I have to carry you home again, I swear to God…” Steve started. Bucky laughed, deep and whole-hearted. It wasn’t a denial. That had been the situation far too many times for that.

“Are we gonna go, or what?” Bucky drummed against his knees, humming the tune to  _ Top Gun’s  _ ‘Danger Zone’. Steve rolled his eyes. 

“ _ Highway toooo the… danger zone!”  _ Bucky sang, nodding his head and moving his body in a way that made Steve flush with second-hand embarrassment. Though Bucky didn’t seem phased at all.  _ Of course, he wouldn’t _ . It took a lot to embarrass Bucky Barnes. 

Steve distinctly remembered a lot of… interesting… nights that had started with that song. The memories came flooding back, and soon Steve had caved and was finding it on his iPod, his jaw muscles hurting from how hard he was smiling. 

“What? My version ain’t good enough for ya?” Bucky said as the music started, singing along in an obnoxious falsetto. Somehow, he actually grew louder when they passed some of Steve’s floormates in the hallway. Steve shook his head, mortified, but in a weirdly good way. It was just amazing to have his best friend back. 

“Oh my god, I hate you!” Steve said, though his loud, hearty laugh contradicted his words. Bucky just smiled and sang louder, until Steve finally gave up and sang along with him. 

 

The night went just as Steve had expected. Bucky danced with most of the cute girls in the club, grinding and spinning and leaning in close to say something in their ear, which always made them laugh. Bucky’s grey eyes had taken on that glazed, exhilarated look they seemed to only adopt when he was drunk and dancing. He’d convinced a few girls to dance with Steve for a while too, though none of them seemed into it. They’d dance near the edge of the club for just long enough that it wasn’t  _ overly _ rude to pretend to go to the bathroom. 

Steve eventually gave up and went to sit at the bar, alternating between water and rum and cokes. Bucky wasn’t the only man in uniform in this particular nightclub. Each one had the same look in their eyes, the  _ last hoorah _ look. It was a weird mix between letting everything go and wanting to make purposefully reckless decisions just because it’d be the last chance for a while. They wouldn’t be able to go out to a club like this for another 18 months. Steve’s heart dropped as he wrapped his head around that. 

18 months without Bucky? It seemed impossible. They’d met up at least every two months since they’d started living in different cities. Apart from that, they still talked over the Internet and on the phone once in a while. The intervals they’d gone without contact had slowly grown larger, but never  _ eighteen months _ . 

When Bucky’s voice got loud enough so Steve could hear him from the bar, he knew it was time to go. He waded his way through the mess of sweaty, writhing bodies to reach his best friend, who seemed to be arguing with another man in uniform, presumably over the pretty blonde between them. Steve made a small motion with his head, encouraging the girl to dance somewhere else. With one last look at Bucky, she grabbed her friend’s hand and left. Neither Bucky nor the guy he was arguing with seemed to notice. 

“Hey, Buck. Let’s go.” Steve said, tugging on Bucky’s arm. 

“Who’s this fucking twerp?” The other guy asked. It had been hard to tell with the lack of lights, but Steve now noticed his uniform was a different colour than Bucky’s. 

“What’d’ya just call him? Wanna repeat that to my  _ face _ , pal?” Bucky slurred, poking the other soldier’s chest with his index finger. Steve held Bucky’s bicep to stabilize him. He was officially trashed. 

“I  _ did  _ say it to your face.” The soldier said, “ _ pal _ .” 

Bucky’s fist hit his chin before Steve could intervene, resulting in the bar’s security escorting all three of them outside. 

“Fuck you, man!” The soldier called out to Bucky as he started in the opposite direction as NYU. Steve bristled, but Bucky was leaning heavily on him already and it was absolutely  _ not _ the time for a fight. They were both just drunk guys on the verge of deployment lashing out at each other and nothing had been said so far to stir Steve’s defensive instincts.

“Well, ya know what they say ‘bout Navy boys!” Bucky said, making a crude gesture that was meant to resemble sucking a dick. 

Steve’s eyes widened and he looked back at the sailor just in time to see him running at them, his steps just slightly steadier than Steve and Bucky’s. Steve tapped Bucky’s back and urged him to start running. That ripped a laugh out of Bucky’s throat. 

“Aw shit.” 

Steve peeled off the main road and hopped over the dumpsters and the chain-link fence. Bucky was hot on his heels, and the Navy man close behind. They ran through the back alleys, both more familiar with this area than the sailor. Steve had been beat up in most of these alleys, he reminisced as he ran, feet echoing on the pavement. They lost him quickly and were left catching their breath on a street Steve didn’t particularly recognize, choking on their own laughter. 

 

“I LEFT MY HOOOOMEE! FOR THE AAAARMYY!” Bucky sang, swaying and waving across the street. 

“Bucky! Cars!” Steve gasped between laughs. Their voices echoed off the buildings and Steve’s vision swam. 

“There’s no cars, Steve-o, don’t be a pussy!” Bucky shouted. He stumbled and almost fell, but Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist. 

“Jesus Christ, Buck.” He muttered. 

“THE DAY I LEEEEEEEFT! MY MAMA CRIEEEEEEEED!” Bucky’s voice, even drunk, was clear and deep. He’d always liked Bucky’s singing voice, no matter how many times he gave him a hard time about it. Steve closed his eyes for a second, trying to stop the pavement from spinning. 

Part of him wished he knew the words so he could sing along. An even bigger part of him wished that he was in uniform, too. Steve’s heart hurt with longing as he imagined he and Bucky walking home like this: tired after  _ both _ having spent their time dancing with pretty girls, laughing about having gotten too drunk, anxious and excited to travel overseas for their first deployment the next day. 

“SHE THOUGHT THAT IIIIIIII! WAS GONNA DIEEEEEEEE!” Bucky leaned over and smiled sloppily at Steve, ruffling his blonde hair with one hand. 

“Everybody!” Yelled Bucky, playfully pushing Steve away and then pulling him tightly into his side. Steve couldn’t hide the goofy smile growing on his face. It was as if Bucky had read his mind. If Steve closed his eyes, he could almost picture he and his best friend marching off to war together. 

“I LEFT MY HOOOOMEEEE! FOR THE AAAAAARMYYY! I LEFT MY HOOOOOMEEEE! FOR THE AAAAAARMYYYY!” They sang together this time, both of their voices rising into the crisp, night air. An angry man called down from one of the apartments for them both to shut the hell up, but that only made Steve and Bucky erupt into fits of laughter. 

“‘M gonna miss the hell outta you, buddy.” Bucky said, with a sigh that seemed too heavy for his body. 

“Aw, c’mon. It’s only 18 months.” Steve said, even though just saying those words sent a stab of anguish through his chest. 

“Don’t do anythin’ stupid while ‘m’gone...” Bucky slurred. 

Steve propped him up against the wall while he unlocked the door to his building, then picked him right back up as he started to slide down to the floor. Bucky let out a groan of protest.

“How could I? You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.” Steve said, giving Bucky a playful half-shove. He stumbled into the wall and muttered curse words. 

“You’re a punk, Rogers.” He mumbled, shaking his head and waving an accusatory finger at Steve. Steve smiled like an idiot and held on to the wall to keep from falling over and taking an unsteady Bucky down with him. Steve took a few more steps, checking behind him for Bucky.

“You know, without me, ya got… no one to step in… when your dumb ass… holy shit, stop for a sec’.” Bucky said, holding onto the wall for stability. Steve held on to Bucky’s arm, draping it around his shoulders. 

“Almost there, Buck.” Steve said, practically dragging Bucky back to his dorm room. 

“But you’ll be here when I get back, right?” Bucky asked, collapsing on Steve’s bed without so much as taking off his boots. Steve’s own head was spinning and he wanted nothing more than a burger and some sleep, but he forced Bucky to sit up and drink as much water as he could. 

“Of course I will. You can’t get rid of me that easy.” Steve said. Bucky groaned and reached to take his boots off, fumbling with the laces. He cracked a weak smile, but his eyes were deadly serious when they locked on Steve’s.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.” 

 

*** 

 

Present Day

 

Steve watched the scene unfold, his mouth dropping open in horror. 

“ _ As far as I know, it worked beautifully. _ ” Rumlow was saying, holding a small device in his hand. 

Steve turned on Bruce, fury rising in his chest. He took two giant steps forward, his eyes narrowed in a way that was uncharacteristically intimidating. Dr. Banner instinctively shrank back slightly.

“You put a microphone on me?” Steve asked, his voice shaking. His hands trembled in rage, clenching by his sides.  _ Please tell me I’m wrong _ , he wanted to say. Banner had seemed like a good guy. Steve was scared of what he might do if his suspicions were confirmed. 

“Actually, that was me.” Tony said, stepping between Banner and Steve and placing a hand on Steve’s chest. He did a double take once he felt the hard muscle beneath his fingers. He momentarily raised his eyebrows in something that seemed almost like congratulations before returning his gaze to a piercing glare. 

“You had no right.” Steve said. He didn’t trust himself to raise his voice for fear that it would break. He spoke in a tone so hushed Tony had to lean forward to make out Steve’s words. 

“And you had no right to talk to him alone. In fact, I’m pretty sure I told you that yesterday!” Tony said, slowly backing Steve away from Bruce.

“And why is that? You were afraid of what he’d tell me?” Steve demanded.

“Like I said, he’s dangerous and-”

“Bullshit!” The sudden anger in Steve’s voice was enough to attract everyone’s attention, even Agent Coulson’s. Steve’s chest heaved with the effort of keeping himself together. Tony’s eyebrows raised, no doubt surprised by Steve’s use of language.

“You caught it all on tape. You know what I’m talking about.” 

“Caught what on tape?” Tony said, feigning innocence. “Do you  _ have _ said tape?” Tony raised his eyebrows infuriatingly. Steve was so angry he teetered the line between wanting to cry and wanting to punch Tony in the face so hard his jaw shattered under his fist. 

“I knew you were a jerk, but I thought you at least had  _ some _ integrity, Stark.” Steve said, shifting disappointed glares between Bruce, Tony, and Coulson, who was completely engaged in the interrogation and occasionally gave instructions or encouragement to Rumlow. 

“If this were anyone else, you’d be on our side. He  _ killed those people _ , Cap. You’re saying using his own confession as evidence is wrong?” Tony demanded. 

“He was being controlled! There is evidence of  _ that _ , Tony! Physical evidence that he wasn’t himself!” Steve argued, dangerously close to shouting. “Brain scans and blood tests! You can’t fake those things!”

“So where are they, huh?” Tony asked. Steve had never wanted to hit someone so much in his entire life. “Fury gave me access to the Level 10 files, Rogers. The results came back normal.” 

“The hell they did…” Steve said. His voice cracked, just as he’d predicted. 

“Barnes is going to get a fully psychiatric analysis once he’s transferred to HQ. If you’re right, then…” Tony shrugged, as if the conclusion was obvious. 

“Then, what? Those results will disappear, too? Can anyone here tell me the goddamn truth for once?  _ What the hell is going on _ ?”  _ Language _ , said a small voice inside his head. He told it to fuck off. 

Steve turned his gaze on Bruce, trying to meet the scientist’s eyes. 

“Bruce, please. Dr. Banner. You saw the results with me! You said it would prevent the death penalty.” Steve hated how much he sounded like he was begging.  _ You are begging _ . Tony looked over at Bruce expectantly. 

“I don’t -- I don’t know what I saw.” Dr. Banner mumbled, his eyes glued to the ground. “It was just a theory.”

“Someone’s  _ life  _ is at stake here, Bruce!  _ Please. _ ” 

Dr. Banner’s eyes flickered from the back of Coulson’s head to the one-way mirror, to Tony, and then finally back to Steve. Was Steve going crazy or did it seem like Bruce had been asked to keep his mouth shut? 

“What is going on?” Steve whispered, the pieces finally starting to fit together in his head. “You can’t just... “

“He  _ did  _ it, Steve. He even admitted it.” Tony said exasperatedly. 

“Tony, why would I lie about this?” Steve begged. Although once he thought it over, he realized that was probably the stupidest thing he possibly could have said. Tony didn’t even have to answer, he just raised his eyebrows at him. 

Steve looked around the room for Bruce Banner, the corners of his eyes stinging. He hadn’t even noticed, but it seemed like the doctor had slipped out.  _ This isn’t happening. I saw it… I saw the results…  _ They hadn’t looked like much to him, but Bruce had seemed so  _ sure _ . 

Steve moved to stand directly in front of the one-way mirror, holding onto it for support. Rumlow was pacing around the table, reading from a list of some kind. There was too much static in Steve’s brain to force himself to hear the words being said. 

_ Come on, Bucky! Explain what happened! It’s all you now, buddy.  _

Steve watched as Rumlow leaned in so Bucky could look him in the eyes. 

“You admitted it yourself, солдат, it was your finger on the trigger.” Rumlow was saying.

_ Tell him! Tell him now, Bucky! _

Steve’s hands shook with nerves and anticipation. If he could just explain… Steve knew that Banner would back it up eventually. He’d seen the way Bruce looked at those brain scan results. He didn’t think Bucky was guilty, either. If Bucky could just  _ tell _ Rumlow (and Coulson, Stark, and Bruce by extension) how HYDRA had used the drugs, physical, and mental torture to mess with his memories and his head, then maybe they’d have a fighting chance to keep him from being transferred to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. 

Bucky had been right not to trust S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve saw that now. They had their own agenda. And like most people with agendas, Coulson and Tony didn’t mind a small bend in the rules to get the results they were looking for. But now wasn’t the time for that. Now was the time for Bucky to  _ please, just tell them _ . 

Steve watched as Bucky’s jaw worked. He was looking for the words, wasn’t he? He was trying to find a way to explain. Steve was clenching his fists so hard he felt his nails dig into his palms. Tony stepped into his peripherals, watching the situation unfold. 

  
  


“You’re right.” Bucky said. 

Steve’s mouth dropped open.  _ No. Nononononono, Bucky, no! _

“There you go.” Tony said. He at least had the decency not to gloat. He simply put a hand on Steve’s shoulder as the latter watched in rapt horror as Rumlow smiled triumphantly and faced the mirror. Coulson was grinning, too. He said something into the microphone that Steve didn’t bother to strain his ears to hear. His heart was falling, plummeting from his chest to his feet. Steve’s head swam as if drunk. 

Bucky looked so small in that room. He was curled in on himself, staring at the table with a look so empty and just so  _ done _ that Steve toyed with the idea of fighting his way in there just give him a hug, let him know this wasn’t his fault. 

“I need to see him.” Steve said, to no one in particular. 

“Get the truck ready to leave in T - 30 minutes.” Coulson ordered Rumlow as soon as he came back in. The smile on the MP’s face made Steve feel sick to his stomach. 

“Will do, sir.” Rumlow agreed. Coulson clapped him on the back and offered Steve a sad smile before leaving the room. 

Steve sank down into one of the chairs, his head spinning. 

“I need to see him.” Steve repeated. Tony and Rumlow exchanged looks and Tony sighed. 

“A few minutes, Brock?” Tony asked. Rumlow shrugged. 

“No can do, Stark.” Rumlow said, “Fury’s guys are gonna be here any second.” He jabbed a thumb in Bucky’s direction, “he’s gotta be prepped and sedated for the ride.” 

Steve felt his throat start to constrict as the four security guards from earlier came back into the room, undoing Bucky’s restraints and replacing them with a complex-looking belt with handcuffs attached. Though he knew Bucky couldn’t see him, Steve swore his their eyes met before they took him away. 

  
  


Steve held his now-cold coffee in his hands, turning it over absently. He’d been an idiot, an absolute idiot. Of course he’d never had a chance at setting Bucky free. Coulson had brought him here to prove Bucky’s guilt. They’d never had any interest in anything else. Steve couldn’t blame them. There  _ was _ video evidence and Bucky had even confessed. If Steve hadn’t known Bucky, he’d have probably assumed the memory loss was a lie, a made-up story to try to buy some time. 

“I’m sorry, Cap. I know he was your friend.” Tony said, taking a seat next to Steve on the bench outside the building. Steve fought the urge to tell him to  _ buzz off _ . That would probably make him want to stay even more. 

“Yeah, he is.” Was all he could muster. Tony sighed. 

“I feel like shit about the microphone thing, you know.” Tony said. “And I looked over the security footage of this morning, when you and Banner were looking through the files.” 

That peaked Steve’s interest. He straightened up and looked suspiciously over at Tony. 

“You saw them?”

“No. The quality was too bad. Those cameras don’t have audio, either, but I know Banner. He was excited about whatever he saw.” 

“What are you trying to say, Tony?” Steve prodded. Tony sighed and let out a groan. 

“I hate being wrong.” Tony said, turning to look at Steve, “And I also hate your perfect teeth. But… I trust Banner. There may -  _ may  _ \- be more going on here than I’d originally thought.”

Steve felt a smile spreading across his features. Tony scowled and let out a huff. 

“Don’t let this go to your head. I’m still right 99.9% of the time.” 

“So Bucky’s gonna be okay?” Steve asked. Tony shrugged. 

“I can’t promise anything, but I think I can get Coulson to come around. I can at least promise an investigation. I’ll find who authorized the Level 10 protection and go from there. Banner will know if the files we have now are different from this morning’s.” Tony held out his hands as if to say ‘ _ we good now?’ _ . Steve couldn’t keep the goofy smile off his face. 

“So the death penalty…”

“If you and Banner are right, he’ll probably be taken to a psych facility.” Tony explained.

“Somehow that doesn’t sound much better.” Steve said with a frown. Bucky would hate it there, he knew it. 

“Do you want him alive, or not?” Tony snapped. “That’s the best you’re gonna get.” 

Steve nodded. Bucky being in a psychiatric hospital was much better than getting the electric chair. At least then Steve could visit.

“Thank you, Tony.” Steve said. Stark gave Steve a nod and a quick pat on the shoulder before dropping his sunglasses on his face and clicking the keys to his car. 

“You want a ride?” The billionaire asked, gesturing to his sleek, white Audi R8 E-Tron. Steve’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly. He’d only ever seen this car in magazines. 

“Just so you know, this is a one-time deal.” Tony clarified. Steve ran his hand along the side of the vehicle and whistled appreciatively. “And I have a thing about dirt in my car, so if I see those dirty-ass boots on the dashboard, I’m leaving you on the side of the road. I’m not a taxi service.  _ Capice _ ?”

“Works for me.” 

“So where am I heading?” Tony asked, clicking a button to automatically open both doors. 

“Brooklyn.” 

 

*** 

 

Bucky’s vision was blurring. He grit his teeth and bit the inside of his mouth to focus himself. If he was going to find a way out of this, he couldn’t do it with a tranquilizer in his system. If it had been in a pill form, that would have been easy to puke back up. But putting it in his bloodstream made things a little more difficult. 

Bucky barely fought back when the guards escorted him to the armoured vehicle. His mind kept telling him that he should be, but his body never seemed to listen. Bucky’s legs moved languidly beneath him, despite all the angry words he threw at them in his head. Nevertheless, the guards were nervous. Bucky could hear it in the rhythm of their breath; he could see it in the way their hands twitched at their sides, ready to reach for guns or tasers at a moment’s notice. 

Without the tranquilizer in his system or the stupid mess of straps that served as his restraints (it really resembled a straight jacket more than anything, in Bucky’s opinion), kicking the shit out of these guards probably wouldn’t have been hard. Then, he’d get the hell out of here and be on his way. 

_ Forgetting something? _ His mind taunted. Steve’s face floated around in Bucky’s vision, somewhere among the blurry mess of people and cars. He supposed he could find Steve, maybe try to convince him to help him lay low for a while… But maybe Steve had betrayed him after all. Then, finding him would be a trap. If Bucky made it out of here, he would be better off on his own. It was simpler that way. 

“Load ‘er up!” Rumlow said, sounding far too chipper for Bucky’s taste. 

Just like they were ordered, the security guards loaded Bucky into the back of the truck. He was inwardly screaming at himself to move and put up some sort of fight.  _ But I’m so damn tired _ , the other part of him complained. It was that tranquilizer, he was sure it. 

“Why the long face,  солдат?” Rumlow asked. He was sitting across from Bucky, an AR-15 in hand. 

Bucky glared him down. He’d nearly perfected the intimidating stare-down. It was one of the first things Strucker had taught him.

 

_ “He’ll have to look scarier than that, Ivan,” Strucker scoffed in his heavily-accented Russian. He cupped Bucky’s chin in one hand and turned his head from side to side. “Look at those eyes. Those are puppy’s eyes. No one will take him seriously.”  _

_ “My _ солдат  _ doesn’t have to look ‘scary’,” Ivan Mironov said dismissively, “have you seen him shoot? They’ll never get that close!”  _

_ Bucky would have probably said something witty but stupid if it hadn’t been for the dark bruises around his neck that remained from the last time he’d spoken out of turn. Mironov had realized early on that he wasn’t a fan of Bucky’s sharp tongue. _

_ “Eventually, you will get that close.” Strucker said, now addressing Bucky directly. That was rare. He and Mironov usually had long conversations about him where he would stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself.  _

_ Without warning, Strucker’s hand collided with the side of Bucky’s face, pain erupting in his cheekbones. He grumbled some choice words under his breath.  _

_ “There you go, you’re getting angry now, aren’t you,  _ солдат?”  _ Strucker taunted. Bucky had to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out. _

_ Strucker hit him again, harder this time. Then did so one more time before Bucky was able to fully wrap his head around what had just happened. He tasted blood. _

_ “Hate me,  _ солдат _!” Strucker hit him again. Bucky lunged forward as if to reciprocate but Mironov held up a hand, signalling him to stand down. Bucky grit his teeth.  _

_ “That’s the look! That’s what I want!” Strucker smiled wider than a kid on Christmas. It made Bucky’s skin crawl.  _

_ “Intimidation goes a long way in hand-to-hand combat. If you make your opponent shake in his boots before throwing the first punch, then you have already won.”  _

 

Bucky closed his eyes as the memory came back. It felt so fresh his hand reached up to feel his cheek for broken bones, only stopping short when his restraints were maxed out. He hadn’t thought of Strucker in a long time. Ivan came to haunt him every few nights or so, but Strucker had only been in Sokovia for a short while. Bucky supposed he must have made quite an impression for Bucky to remember him at all. 

“Hey, I asked you a question!” 

“I was ignoring you.” Bucky lied. He probably wouldn’t have answered even if he  _ had _ heard the question, though, so maybe it wasn’t as much of a lie as he thought. 

“Well, this time don’t.” Rumlow ordered. The AR-15 and the fact that Bucky was bound and drugged up let him know that this wasn’t the ideal time to get on Rumlow’s nerves. 

“Why’d you never tell Steve how you got caught?” Rumlow asked, all fake kindness and soft edges. Bucky didn’t buy the good cop act. 

“Never came up.” He said. 

“Hmm. I would’ve thought that Steve would’ve loved to hear about the heroic way you purposefully missed Stark and then killed your own handler instead.” Rumlow said, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’m sure his soft little heart would’ve melted, thinking it was a cry for help.” 

Bucky’s blood froze.  _ How does he know that? Howdoesheknowhowdoesheknow?  _ He took a deep breath to steady himself. Maybe he’d mentioned it and didn’t remember. There were a lot of things Bucky didn’t remember. Somehow, though, it didn’t feel that way. 

“Where’d you hear that?” Bucky asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. 

“A little bird.” Rumlow said, leaning back in the truck and adjusting his assault rifle on his splayed knees. “A very  _ angry _ little bird.” 

Bucky couldn’t breathe. Whatever Rumlow was trying to say, there was no way it was what Bucky was thinking… right? He tried another tactic. 

“You should check your sources,” Bucky said. 

“Oh?” Rumlow smirked. The sheer arrogance of it sent a shudder down Bucky’s spine. 

“Seems like solid logic to me. You spend far too long on an assignment, start to get some of those peskier memories back, suddenly don’t want to go home…” Rumlow shrugged, “fail your mission, kill your handler, make it look like an accident. Bing, bang, boom.”

Bucky sucked on his bottom lip. It wasn’t the first time he re-played that night over in his head. Hell, it wasn’t even the thousandth. He had no idea what he’d been thinking at the time. The only thing on his mind had been that going back to Sokovia was the worst fate in the world. To be completely honest, Bucky wasn’t entirely sure  _ what _ he’d done. It was all a blur. 

“And get myself executed?” Bucky challenged.

“Something tells me you didn’t think that far ahead.” Rumlow said. 

Bucky stared down at his metal hand. It came in and out of focus in random intervals, making his head spin more than it already was. He hoped his face didn’t reflect how much he was freaking out inside. Bucky breathed through his nose to keep from noticeably hyperventilating. 

“Why interrogate me, then?” Bucky asked. He cursed how badly his voice shook. Rumlow picked up on it immediately, his lips curling into a wolfish grin. 

“Well, солдат, I didn’t get the offer ‘til this morning.” Rumlow said, leaning forwards and adjusting his gun again. Bucky saw his hand gravitate towards the trigger and heard the small  _ click _ of the safety being switched off. 

“Hail HYDRA.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for that cliffhanger (( jk not really that sorry))


	6. Codename: Black Widow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve enlists the help of some unlikely allies once he finds out Bucky is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this story is written already, but I'm sort of stuck on how to finish it so the updating schedule might be a little sporadic after the next one. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Steve’s eyes were glued to the news all day. He knew the trial wouldn’t start for weeks, but he kept hoping that Bucky’s face would pop up under a hopeful headline. After spending 24 straight hours in front of the TV, surviving on microwave dinners and coffee, Sam convinced him to go out for a few beers. 

Though he put up a bit of a fight, Steve had to admit that drinking and getting out of his sweats didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world. 

“I don’t know what you’re worried about, Steve,” Sam said while wiping wing sauce from his mouth, “I mean, it sounds like it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“I know,” Steve admitted, “but  _ Bucky _ in a mental institution? It just doesn’t feel right.”

“You gotta admit, he’d been pretty unstable since Syria.” Sam said.

“Which time?”

“The first time.” Sam took a swig of beer and leaned back to look at Steve. “I mean, there are more surprising things in the world.”

“Sam…” Steve sighed, rubbing at his temples. 

“Well, I know it’s not what you wanna hear, but it might be good for him to-”

“Sam!” Steve sat up ramrod straight, suddenly on high alert. His eyes had caught something over his friend’s shoulder, zoomed-in security camera footage of two men stealing a grey pick-up truck. Both wore masks and one had a gun pressed to the small of the other’s back, an AR-15 hanging over his shoulder. There was something eerily familiar about the two men’s body language. Especially the way one of them leaned a bit to his left, as if that side of him were heavier than the other.

“What? You know who that is?” Sam asked. Steve shook his head. 

“No. Sorry. I’m just…” Steve shrugged, finishing his beer in nearly record speed. He must have just hallucinated their likeness to Bucky and Rumlow. Those two were in an armoured vehicle heading to Washington, D.C. Steve liked to think he would have been told otherwise. 

“That’s what the drinks are for, Cap,” Sam said with a cautious laugh, “to take the edge off.” 

Steve offered him a thin smile, though anxious thoughts still gnawed at his brain. 

“Have you thought of anything but Bucky in the past few days?” Sam asked. His brow furrowed with genuine concern.

“Yes.” Steve said, a little too quickly. Sam snorted knowingly. 

“Mhmm. Lemme guess, you also thought of S.H.I.E.L.D?” Steve let out a self-deprecating chuckle and sighed. 

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Steve admitted. 

“Knew it!” Sam said, “I can read you like a damn book!” Bucky used to say that, too. Sam must have noticed the shift in Steve’s gaze as he reminisced, because he swiftly ordered them two more beers. 

“You did all you could, Steve. Give yourself a break.”  

Steve didn’t answer. He couldn’t come up with anything to say. He just trailed his finger along the condensation on the side of his beer glass, watching tiny droplets streak down the surface and pool on the table. 

If Bucky had survived captivity for years, there was no doubt in Steve’s mind that he could handle a short stint in an institution. As much as Steve hated it, he couldn’t deny that it was much better than the alternative. Steve could bring more pictures and maybe some of his and Bucky’s favourite board games from when they were kids (they were still in a box in his apartment). Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for Bucky to get better in a controlled environment.

Steve repeated these thoughts to himself to ease his conscience and continued to sip at his beer. When Sam dragged him to the pool table, he put up almost no resistance. Soon his mind was off S.H.I.E.L.D and Bucky and he was simply enjoying a game of billiards in a bar with one of his best friends. The prick of nostalgia was so brief that Steve barely even noticed it was there at all. 

 

***

 

The Soldier woke up not knowing where he was. He jerked awake, instantly aware of a shooting pain in his right shoulder. He gasped in agony. 

“‘Morning,  солдат.” He heard Rumlow’s voice before the man faded into view.  _ That’s not my name _ . The Soldier realized quite quickly that he’d been drugged. That was the only thing that would explain this level of grogginess. He bit back the urge to tell Rumlow not to call him солдат. The name put him on edge. The Soldier also knew that asking him would guarantee he’d use it for the foreseeable future. 

“What is this?” The Soldier asked, struggling to remember the events of yesterday. The last thing he recalled was being in a plain, white room with irritatingly bright lights. Rumlow was there. But someone else was there too… His name was  _ Steve _ . He’d called the Soldier his friend. He’d called him  _ Bucky _ .

“I’m bringing you home.” Rumlow said. He was driving, so didn’t face Bucky when he spoke. He did, however, make eye contact through the rearview mirror. 

That was when Bucky realized he was tied up in the back of a truck.  _ Motherfucker! _ He pulled on the restraints, pain erupting in his right shoulder. He hissed through his teeth. This was going to be a rather uncomfortable ride. The discomfort in his shoulder was growing by the second, along with the panic rising in Bucky’s chest. 

“What did you do to me?” He asked, referring to the drugs. Rumlow cracked a smile. 

“You put up quite a fight. Even killed a few S.H.I.E.L.D agents. Thanks for that, by the way. It makes the hostage story a lot more credible.” Rumlow said, putting on his turn signal and accelerating suddenly. 

Bucky was pressed up against the side of the truck, cursing under his breath. He had no idea what  _ hostage story _ the military policeman was referring to, but also knew Rumlow liked the sound of his own voice and would most likely end up explaining the situation without Bucky having to ask many questions. 

“As for the disorientation you’re probably feeling, that would be the tranquilizer. And a little something extra you might already be familiar with.” Rumlow shrugged it off like he was talking about a dinner he made, not the drugs he pumped into another man’s unwilling body. 

Bucky strained to lift his head up, trying to get a look outside for any landmarks. Maybe if he figured out where they were, he could formulate a plan to get out of this mess. One way or another, he’d die before laying his eyes on Ivan Mironov or Arnim Zola ever again. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t try to do that if I were you.” Rumlow warned. Bucky heard the sound of a gun’s safety flicking off and lowered himself back down. Even if he strained the restraints to their maximum, he couldn’t see jack shit. 

Bucky closed his eyes to focus on his predicament. He still had that handcuff/belt contraption on. It wasn’t going anywhere unless he found a way to break the main strap off. Then, his left arm would be able to force it off (he hoped). Apart from that, his legs were tied to the handle on the inside of the door. If his arm was free, he could rip that thing off. That wouldn’t be a problem. If he somehow managed to do all that without getting shot first, there was still the annoying little fact that another restraint went from the door handle behind him, around his neck, and back. If he leaned forwards more than a few inches, the stupid thing would strangle him. If Rumlow opened either door, Bucky was a dead man. 

Bucky’s only hope was something magically going wrong with the main strap while Rumlow was gone. Then, he’d have the time to get the arm restraints off and then deal with the rest. According to his assessment, the chances of that were slim to none so Bucky let himself curse and stare up at the roof of the truck and contemplate means of suicide instead. 

If they got close enough to their final destination that escape was no longer an option, Bucky would have to keep one of the doors open long enough that he’d choke to death. It wouldn’t be pleasant, that was for sure. And it certainly wasn’t the ending Bucky would have envisioned for himself, but it was better than being brought back to Sokovia. There was no doubt about that. 

Either way, Bucky Barnes was screwed.  

  
  


***

  
  


Steve was alone in his apartment when it happened. The news coverage provided him with confirmation of his worst fears. 

“  _ We ask residents of the New York area to be alert as a known felon known as James Buchanan Barnes, codename: The Winter Soldier escaped military police custody en route to Washington, D.C. He has taken one Sergeant Brock Rumlow as a hostage and is considered armed and dangerous. Any information regarding the whereabouts of Barnes or-”  _ Steve was standing up and grabbing the phone as pictures of Bucky and Rumlow’s faces popped up on the screen. He was calling Tony Stark before fully registering what he was doing. 

“ _ Hey, you’ve reached Tony. I’m either busy or just don’t want to talk to you. Call my office number next time.”  _ The message said. Steve waited for the beep but couldn’t think of anything to say. 

“ _ Barnes and Rumlow were last seen at a gas station near Woodbridge Township and are believed to be driving a grey 2005 Ford F-150. Residents of this area are advised to-”  _ Steve didn’t even bother turning the TV off before rushing out the door and running as fast as he could to the subway station. 

 

Everyone knew where Stark Tower was. Steve didn’t even have to pull up Google Maps. 

He argued with the receptionist for fifteen minutes before she finally agreed to call Mr. Stark. The first time, the pretty young blonde told Steve that Tony was busy. He argued with her for another few minutes, although he felt bad doing so because it really wasn’t her fault. She tried again, and this time Steve grabbed the phone from her. 

“Tony! I need to talk to you! It’s urgent!” 

“The Barnes-Rumlow thing, right?” Tony asked with an exhausted sigh. “It’s under control. Go home. Oh, and don’t steal my receptionist’s phone. That’s rude.” He hung up the phone abruptly.  _ That’s  _ rude, thought Steve. 

Steve quickly found out where Stark’s office was and snuck into the stairwell by holding the door for a member of the maintenance crew. By the time he made it to Tony’s floor, he was sweating and gasping for breath. He leaned on the most important-looking desk he could find. The nameplate read ‘Ms. Potts’. 

“Ms. Potts,” Steve started, still catching his breath, “I really have to talk to Tony. It’s important.” She raised her eyebrows at him, giving his disheveled appearance a quick once-over. 

“And who are you?” She asked with an amused smile. 

“Steve Rogers.”

“Ah.” She raised her eyebrows somewhat knowingly and Steve felt himself flush. Had Tony told her about him? She called Tony’s office.

“Mr. Stark, there’s a Steve Rogers here to see you.” Pepper said in a sweet but slightly mischievous voice. She held the phone a few inches from her ear as Tony’s voice rose on the other line. Even from where Steve was standing, he could make out a few choice words. 

“You’re on hold.” She eventually said, offering a sympathetic half-smile. 

“Of course, I am.” Steve rolled his eyes, tapping impatiently on the counter. Pepper checked down the hallway before inclining her head. 

“Last door on the right.” Pepper said with a wink. Steve thanked her profusely and broke into a half-jog, half-walk to Tony’s office. 

Steve let himself in, already holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

“Ah, ah, ah. No you don’t. What are you doing here?” Tony demanded. “This is my office! I didn’t let you in. See this little blinking light?” Tony pointed to the red light on the phone signifying a line was on hold. “That’s you. Get out.” 

“Bucky’s in trouble.”

“No,  _ Rumlow _ is in trouble.” Tony said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Your pal Bucky is certifiably insane. Bat-shit. And he just blew his shot at getting any sort of leniency from a judge.” 

“Rumlow’s not the hostage, Bucky is!” Steve insisted. Tony’s smile was equal parts confused, amused, and annoyed. 

“Do I even wanna ask?” He breathed. 

“Bucky was drugged and restrained! You think he overpowered four guards and an MP with an assault rifle? C’mon Tony.”

“It’s not as crazy as thinking Sergeant Rumlow went on the run with the same guy he was so dead-set on convicting.” Tony said. “I’d take the Winter Soldier going on a rampage over Rumlow pulling a Natasha Romanov any day.” 

“A  _ who _ ?”

“It’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. thing. Don’t worry about it.” Tony waved a dismissive hand. 

“So you’re not gonna help me?” Steve asked, trying and failing to keep his disappointment from showing.

“Nope.” Said Tony. “So you can see yourself out.” 

Steve hesitated by the door, watching as Tony sat himself back behind his desk, muttering something about needing better security. 

Tony sighed and rested his chin on steepled fingers. 

“Yes, Steve?” He asked with fake concern, noticing that he wasn’t leaving. 

“At least tell me S.H.I.E.L.D. is looking into this.” Steve said. 

“Technically, I’m not allowed to say anything, but since I’m getting the vibe that you’re about to do something really stupid, I should tell you for your own safety that they have orders to shoot on sight.”

Steve felt the colour drain from his face. Something that looked deceptively like pity flashed across Tony’s face, gone as soon as it appeared. 

“If Bucky is holding Rumlow hostage like they think he is, then I should be the one to talk to him!”

“Not gonna happen, Cap.” Tony shook his head. 

“I can convince him to go to D.C and stand trial.” Steve was begging, now, he could hear it in his own voice. “Just tell me how I can find him.”

“What makes you think I know how to find Barnes?” Tony asked, his eyebrows quirking upwards. 

“Don’t you?” Steve challenged. 

Steve assumed that Tony of all people would have access to the most technology, be it surveillance cameras or special connections. Working for the government  _ and _ being the richest guy in the world made a pretty good candidate for knowing how to track someone down. At least, that was what Steve was counting on. 

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t be authorized to tell you.” Tony said. Steve’s heart sank. 

“But,” He continued, “There’s nothing in my contract that says I can’t take a bathroom break while there’s a confidential file on my desk.” Tony unlocked one of his drawers and laid a manila file on top of the smooth mahogany surface. 

“Thanks, Tony.” Steve said quietly as Tony passed him on his way to the door. 

“What for?” Tony asked, “You were never even here.” 

  
  


Natasha Romanov. Steve thought it was some sick joke at first. In the context of his and Tony’s earlier conversation, it seemed like ‘pulling a Natasha Romanov’ really meant betrayal. Steve read through the stolen file countless times, trying to figure out why Tony would have left this of all things as Steve’s clue. 

Romanov was a former KGB spy with a questionable history. She was known to be associated with HYDRA and different branches of the Russian mafia before becoming an informant for the U.S government in exchange for full immunity. Steve wondered what someone like that could have to offer that would help find Bucky. He called Sam for backup. 

“Well, it’s pretty damn obvious to me.” Sam said, once they’d read it through once again.

“How?” Steve asked miserably. 

“They probably think Bucky’s heading back to some HYDRA safehouse. If anyone knows where the closest one is, it would be Romanov, right?”

“But there’s  _ no way _ that’s where Rumlow would be heading.” Steve argued. 

“Well, that’s clearly where Stark thinks they’re going.” Sam shrugged. 

Steve thought about it for a minute. If Rumlow had taken Bucky, where would he go? If Bucky was right about S.H.I.E.L.D. wanting HYDRA’s psychotropic drug, then maybe that’s where Rumlow would ask Bucky to take him. Bucky would never go there by his own will, but maybe Tony was right, just for the wrong reasons. 

“So how do we find an ex-Soviet spy?” Steve scrubbed his face. He actually missed the days of sneaking around in cheap Sokovian hotels and conducting secret interviews in alleyways with the help of Google translate. Even the most dangerous moments of his reporting career didn’t involve finding spies to help locate rogue hitmen. He was out of his league on this one. 

  
  


After hours of research and Sam making a few calls to Army buddies who owed him favours, they got an address. Steve thanked God that it wasn’t far. According to the intel from Sam’s old friend’s superior’s brother, Romanov was living with her boyfriend right here in New York. 

“Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye.” Sam read from yet another confidential file. He frowned. “What is it with everyone and these codenames?” 

“Hawkeye?” Steve echoed. 

“Damn, I should get myself a codename.” Sam said, honking at a taxi blocking half the road. He mumbled something about Manhattan’s traffic. 

“Yeah? And what would your codename be?” Steve asked, a small smile growing across his features. 

“Hmm…  _ The Chocolate Terror _ .” Sam guffawed, immediately shaking his head. “Oh, shit. Forget I said that.”

“ _ The Chocolate Terror _ ?” Steve laughed. “That’s… that’s definitely original, I’ll give you that.” 

“How about  _ The Redwing _ ?” Sam said, dropping his voice to make it sound more ominous.

“Isn’t that your parrot’s name?”

“Dude! You’re killing me, here!” Sam said. “Oh, got one!  _ The Falcon _ .”

“Why?” Steve laughed.

“Cause, you know,  _ Falcon _ ? My helicopter?”

“No, I mean, why would you ever need a codename?” Steve clarified. 

“Man, we’re going on a secret mission that involves an ex-KGB spy and hiding from a shady government organization. It would almost be weird  _ not _ to.” Sam said. Steve was starting to get the idea that Sam was nervous. He always got really chatty when he was nervous. Unlike Steve, who mostly retreated into his own thoughts. 

“Does that mean I need one, too?” Steve asked, mostly as a joke. 

“You’ve already got one, Cap.” Sam said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Captain America?” Steve said, “That’s got to be one of the worst codenames I’ve ever heard.” 

“I dunno. It kinda works for you.” Sam said. Steve shook his head, finding it impossible to hide the small grin on his face. 

“You can march into battle while  _ God Bless America _ plays in the background.” Sam said, chuckling. Steve rolled his eyes, imagining it in his head. 

“Oh, shut up.” 

“ _ Godddd Bless Ameeeeerica, land that I looooove!”  _ Sam sang in a goofy falsetto, suddenly reminding Steve so much of Bucky that it hurt. He managed a smile despite it feeling like someone had just grabbed his heart from his chest and squeezed it. 

  
  


Steve was the one to knock at the door, upon Sam’s insistence. He cracked a joke about wanting to look like the ‘cool scary black man’ standing behind Steve with his arms crossed. Steve chuckled to himself as he recalled _The_ _Chocolate Terror_. 

A man quite a bit shorter than Steve answered the door. He had dirty blonde hair, a boyish face, and a permanently mischievous smirk. 

“Uh… You’re not UPS.” He said in lieu of a greeting. 

“I’m Steve Rogers, and this is Sam Wilson. Are you Clint Barton?” Steve said. Barton crossed his arms over his chest, immediately suspicious. 

“If I say yes, you’re not gonna serve me court papers, are you?” Clint asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No. We’re actually here to see your girlfriend, Natasha Romanov.” Steve said, trying to muster his most friendly smile. If anything, Clint became even more defensive. 

“What do you want with her?” 

“We need her help.” 

“You gonna pay her for it?” Clint inquired. 

Steve and Sam exchanged looks before letting him know they would be paid for their efforts if they decided to help. After that, Clint seemed a lot more receptive and invited them in for a drink. Natasha joined them shortly. She wasn’t so quick to convince. 

“How the hell did you find me?” She asked. 

“Tony Stark.” Steve answered, choosing it was maybe best not to tell her they’d spent the better part of a day tracking her down. Natasha rolled her eyes and smirked. 

“Typical.” 

“We heard you might know how to find a HYDRA safehouse.” Sam said. Natasha leaned back at this, looking them both over suspiciously. 

“And what would two nice boys like you want to do with information like that?” She asked. Her voice was light and almost teasing, but Steve didn’t miss the wariness in her gaze. 

“We’re looking for Bucky Barnes.” Steve said. That earned him a blank look. “You might know him as the Winter Soldier. He worked for the Mironov family.” 

Nat and Clint immediately looked at each other, their complexions growing a few shades paler. Steve sat up, his pulse racing. 

“You know Bucky?” He asked, unable to conceal his child-like excitement. Nat took a long swig of whatever was in her glass and sighed. 

“I guess you could say we’ve been acquainted.” She answered. Clint tensed. 

“What the fuck would you want with a guy like him?” Clint demanded. 

“What do you know about him?” Sam asked, unable to resist. Steve hadn’t told him much about what Bucky had been up to in Sokovia. He’d barely even explained what HYDRA was, mostly for fear of scaring him away. Steve’s palms started to sweat as Clint opened his mouth to answer. 

“Only that he’s HYDRA’s little attack dog. Most dangerous hitman in Eastern Europe with a metal arm and less morals than fucking bin Laden. He’d kill his own mother for a big enough paycheck.” Clint said. Steve felt an angry flush grow in his face. His fists clenched. 

“Or at least that’s what I heard.” Clint rushed, trying to backtrack. He laughed nervously and looked between Steve and Sam. 

“You heard wrong. Bucky’s one of the best men I’ve ever known.” Steve snapped. Clint raised his eyebrows. Natasha hid her scoff with a fake laugh.

“Uhh. Don’t mind Steve. He knew Bucky - the Winter Soldier - back when they were kids.” Sam explained. “He also didn’t think it was important to mention that his buddy became a hired gun for the mafia.” Sam’s tone was pointed as he looked over at Steve. 

“You don’t understand. HYDRA was controlling his mind when he was doing those things. It wasn’t his fault.” Steve argued, feeling like a broken record. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Nat said, refilling her cup with pure vodka. “You’d have to pay me a lot of money to go face-to-face with him again.”

“We just need to know where the safehouse is.” Steve said, “We’ll do the rest ourselves.” Clint and Nat took a second to register Steve’s words before erupting into hysterical laughter. 

“You’re kidding, right?” Natasha asked, wiping (perhaps fake) tears from her eyes. Steve straightened up. 

“No. I’m gonna talk to him.” Steve said. Those words felt a little empty now, in light of what he’d heard from Clint. What if Bucky had been faking it with him? What if the boy he knew was long gone by now? 

“And the two of you are gonna take on HYDRA’s most lethal weapon and some of their best fighters  _ alone _ ?” Clint asked, a laugh ripping its way from his throat. “I mean, have fun, but you’re probably gonna die.” 

Steve had completely forgotten about that. Bucky and Rumlow wouldn’t be the only ones there. For all they knew, the safehouse could be full of members of the Russian mafia, all armed to the teeth. He suddenly felt like an idiot. That would be suicide.

“You know, we could use your help.” Sam said, having probably come to the same conclusion as Steve. “Both of you seem to have experience.” 

“I’m retired.” Clint said with a shrug. 

“I kind of enjoy being alive.” Nat said, twisting her lips into a slight frown. “But, on the other hand, I  _ have _ been bored lately…” She looked over to Clint, who shook his head. 

“Nuh, uh. Never in a million years. HYDRA? Are you fucking with me?” 

Nat tilted her head slightly, her grey eyes taking on a begging quality. 

“You owe me, Clint.” She said with a cryptic smile, her fingers edging their way up his arm. 

“Aw, Nat, no.” Clint sighed. “I meant…” He looked over at Steve and Sam, then cleared his throat before lowering his voice, “I owe you a  _ different kind _ of favour. This doesn’t count. At all.” 

“But now I’ll owe  _ you _ a  _ different kind  _ of favour.” Nat said, her voice sultry. Clint’s pupils dilated. He sighed and frowned slightly. 

“Alright. So how big of a payday are we talking, here?” Clint asked Steve and Sam. Sam’s mouth was slightly ajar after watching their previous interaction. Steve clicked his tongue uncomfortably before answering. 

“So that’s a ‘yes’?” Steve asked. He sounded too hopeful even to his own ears. 

“If by ‘yes’, you mean ‘death wish’, then sure.” Clint nodded. 

“I’m in.” Nat said, opening the drawer behind her and pulling out a pistol. 

Steve looked over at Sam. He shrugged. 

“Hunting down a wanted criminal at a mafia hideout? What’s not to like?” Sam said, with a slightly panicked smile. “Count me in, Cap.”

  
  
  
  
  



	7. Codename: Winter Soldier, Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finds himself back in the hands of his captors. Needless to say, HYDRA is not very forgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason for the "graphic depictions of violence" tag so consider yourself warned. 
> 
> Also, this one is a lot so I'm sorry... I'm a horrible person.

 

It was like watching a stranger from a sniper’s nest. Detached. Dissociated. Were those his feet moving? Was that his heartbeat he could hear pounding furiously in his ears? He faintly recalled trying to kill himself.  _ Assessment Complete. Mission Failed.  _ He was very much alive. At least, he was pretty sure. 

“Didn’t want any trouble so…” The voice drifted off, but came back again, “...as a fucking kite.” There was laughing in his ear. It was much too close. It echoed as if he were underwater. All his energy was spent on looking at the ground, on those feet that were probably his, on  _ not falling _ . Everything was too wide, too slow, too loud, too far…  _ What the fuck is going on? _

 

“Солдат.” Someone said. The Soldier’s eyes focused on the man in front of him. His head was no longer spinning. That was good. He was handcuffed to a chair. That was not good.

“Do you know who I am?” The man asked. He was American. He had the sort of face that you’d immediately picture when thinking about an important man, a banker or a politician of some kind. The man wasn’t attractive, but exuded confidence and power. 

The Soldier shook his head. This was not the sort of man he was supposed to speak to.  _ Fuck that, you can say whatever you damn well please _ . 

“My name is Alexander Pierce.” The man said. The Soldier wasn’t sure if he was supposed to introduce himself in return. What would he say?  _ Bucky Barnes. That’s your fucking name, so you’d say that _ . 

“What do you want?” Bucky said instead, surprising himself. Pierce’s eyebrows automatically raised. 

“I was told you were compliant.” Pierce said, a slightly amused smile dancing on his lips.  _ Were you, now? _ Bucky bit his tongue, reminding himself to choose his battles. However, the urge to wipe that stupid look off that man’s face was too strong to allow him to listen to his own advice. 

“And I was told I was going to Washington D.C, but here we are.” Bucky said. Pierce smiled. It was an unsettling sight. It was too toothy to be genuine, yet too gleeful to be entirely fake. 

“You tried to strangle yourself on the way here. Why would you do that?” Pierce asked. Bucky had a nagging sensation that this man was fucking with him. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He snapped. 

“Ivan took personal offense.” Pierce said in his gravelly, sickly-sweet voice. Bucky clenched his jaw, wishing the other man would just shut the hell up already. 

“What do you think about that, солдат?” Pierce prodded.  _ I have no opinion, sir _ . That was what he should have said. Except that was wrong. Bucky had a lot of opinions, the first of which was that he didn’t give a shit if Ivan was offended. He had to get out of here. That was the only thing that mattered. 

As much as part of him wanted to avert his gaze and tell Pierce what he wanted to hear, Bucky bit down on his tongue for focus and slid his eyes up to Pierce’s, his glare unwavering. 

“Interesting.” Pierce clicked his tongue, sounding almost like a disappointed high school teacher. “Well, HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. have come to a little agreement. You played your part wonderfully, but I’m afraid it had to end sometime.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky asked, panic rising in his chest. He licked his lips, his mind jumping frantically between possible outcomes of this situation. “What kind of agreement?”

“The kind where we both get what we want and the situation… disappears.” Pierce said. He pulled a small vial from one of his pockets. Bucky didn’t have to be told what it was. His whole body tensed in response. 

“Not so chatty now, are we, солдат?” Pierce asked mockingly. It was all starting to feel more real now. It wasn’t just a stranger in a room screwing with Bucky’s head, this man knew who he was. He knew about the drug. He also knew about HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. and, well,  _ everything _ . 

“You’re wondering who I am, aren’t you?” Pierce asked, starting to pace around Bucky’s chair. Bucky’s mind flashed back to the interrogation room in New York, to Sergeant Rumlow doing the same thing. His head hurt. 

“I work for S.H.I.E.L.D.. I guess now, I also work for HYDRA if you count looking out for their interests in the Sokovian civil war.” Pierce explained with a wave of his hand. “I don’t expect you to understand. In fact, in a few hours you probably won’t remember this conversation even happened. Or anything else from the past two months.” 

Bucky fought against the restraints. He was not letting Pierce or anyone else inject him with that shit. There was no way he was forgetting about the past few months, about Steve, about the life he’d had before that blast in… Syria? No, Sokovia. Syria was his first deployment. Or was that his second? Both?  _ Goddammit _ . 

“I’d do the honours, but you’ve pissed off a lot of people who’d rather do it themselves.” Pierce said, setting the vial and an empty syringe on a rickety table Bucky hadn’t even noticed until now. Bucky’s breathing got deeper and faster, his chest noticeably heaving. 

“I just wanted to meet you. The  _ infamous _ Winter Soldier.” Pierce said, “You know, the world would have been a different place if you’d completed your mission. I wanted to thank you - personally - for botching it. Tony Stark is… irreplaceable. I finally got Ivan to see that killing Stark would be a terrible business move. 

“For once, we and HYDRA see eye-to-eye on the future of Sokovia. So, why not work together, right? Couldn’t have done it without your help, though, солдат. You are truly a blessing to this generation.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” Bucky heard himself say. If that pretentious sack of shit thought Bucky would sit here and accept his empty ‘thank you’s and cryptic comments, he had another thing coming. 

Pierce’s unsettling smile just grew. It was like he was getting off on watching Bucky fight back. He was probably used to everyone kissing his ass. Bucky wondered if he thought of this as his own personal show.  _ Watch Sergeant Barnes run his mouth for the last time before being restored to his rightful place as a compliant killing machine! Come one, come all! _

 

Bucky’s heart was in his throat when the door opened behind Pierce, revealing none other than Ivan Mironov and Baron von Strucker. He felt his mouth fall open. Truth be told, he’d never expected Mironov himself to fly out here. He never came along on the missions. Bucky would have laughed at his own stupidity if he weren’t on the verge of throwing up. 

His eyes were glued to his knees. He assessed the damage to his body to distract himself. The fabric of his S.H.I.E.L.D. prison uniform was torn and he’d bled through in a few places from the initial fight on the road. Those injuries were minor, merely some scratches and minor cuts. He’d grown so accustomed to the pain of his dislocated right shoulder that he barely felt it unless he moved around too much. He resolved to stay still. 

No matter how many times Bucky yelled at himself to  _ look up, goddammit,  _ he couldn’t do it. The anger and disappointment was coming off Mironov in waves. Bucky could practically feel it in his bones. 

 

“Mission report. April 25, 2018.” Mironov ordered in Russian. It took his mind a second to process and switch his mind to thinking in another language, but the change happened faster than he’d expected. It was like a light switch. His whole demeanour shifted almost instantaneously.

“Mission failed.” The Soldier said, his eyes lingering over a bloodstain on his uniform. 

Rough, familiar fingers lifted his chin upwards. The Soldier did not make eye contact.  _ Spit in his fuckin’ face! _

“You’re so much better with him than I am.” Pierce said, sighing a little. Without context, he would have sounded like a dog owner picking up his pitbull from the kennel. 

“Because my солдат does not respect you.” Mironov answered in English. It was the first time the Soldier had heard him speak English. It was strange. Pierce shifted his feet, unsure whether or not to defend his ego or take this as his cue to leave. The sound of excuses of ‘tight schedules’ and the door closing was his answer. 

The Soldier should apologize. Mironov would just become angrier the longer he waited. Respect had always been his first priority. But Strucker was here, too… That threw him off. Speaking at all would make Strucker angry.  _ All it took was speaking a little Russian? Man, are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?  _ The Soldier didn’t trust himself to speak. If he spoke, he might not cooperate. That would make things infinitely worse. 

“I know what you did.” Mironov said. He pulled up a chair from somewhere outside the Soldier’s field of vision, sitting down in from of him. The Soldier should apologize. Things would go smoother if he apologized. But he couldn’t. What he wanted to do was scream at him, tell him he was  _ done _ , tell him he’d rather die than go on another goddamn mission for him. He’d rip the cybernetic arm off himself to settle the debt if that was what it took. 

“I’m out.” A soft, raspy voice said. It took the Soldier a minute to realize it was his own. 

“What was that?” Strucker’s voice asked. The accent was unmistakable. The Soldier cleared his throat, unable to turn back now. 

“I’m-” Strucker’s hand was around his throat now, the words pinned beneath his fingers. The Soldier pulled against the restraints, pain flaring in his right shoulder. He needed to get free, rip this man’s hands off him. The Soldier couldn’t breathe. His face was starting to overheat, his eyes bulging painfully. He made quiet, gasping sounds, his fingers uselessly scrambling at the handcuffs. 

“I can’t quite hear you, солдат.” Mironov whispered.  _ I want out! I’m done! I’ve been done for years!  _ The Soldier gasped for air that wasn’t coming. His legs kicked out, maxing out the restraints. Mironov waved his hand in dismissal and Strucker finally let go of the Soldier’s throat. 

His first mistake was drawing too deep of a breath. He immediately gagged, throwing up bile and whatever was left in his system onto his left leg. The foul-smelling substance soaked into the fabric of the uniform. 

“ просто убей меня.” The Soldier managed.  _ Just kill me.  _

That was his second mistake. 

 

*** 

 

The safest place to meet was Natasha and Clint’s. Considering how difficult it had been for Steve and Sam to track them down in the first place, it was a pretty safe bet that S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t bugged the place. Rumlow himself had been inside Steve’s apartment. Steve had been too paranoid to go back since he saw the news. 

Natasha brought them all beers, setting her tablet down on the newly-cleared coffee table. She had numerous Google Maps screenshots printed out as well, and some older photos that looked nothing like the Maps versions. 

“This is the place. The address technically doesn’t exist.” Nat’s lips flickered into a cryptic smile. It almost seemed as if she  _ enjoyed _ sharing privileged information.

“These are recon photos from one of my missions with HYDRA.” She said, gesturing to the pictures of the building itself. 

“If you were working with them, why do recon?” Sam asked. Nat shot him a slightly approving yet devious smile. 

“I like to be prepared for anything.” Was her smooth response. Clint and Nat shared knowing looks and Steve shifted, checking the time on his phone. 

“How far away is it?” Steve asked. 

“Lemme guess, you wanna roll up there right now with no plan, guns a-blazing?” Clint asked, sparing an unimpressed glance in his direction. 

“Every minute we wait, they could be killing him.” Steve said, rubbing sweaty palms against his jeans. 

“Hmm.” Nat frowned slightly. Whatever the look on her face meant, Steve didn’t like it. 

“What?” He asked. 

“If I know Ivan Mironov, he won’t kill him.” Nat said quietly. Clint’s facial expression dropped to match hers. 

“You’ll probably wish he did.” Clint muttered. Nat glared at him and Steve felt himself pale. His entire chest constricted when he thought of Bucky trapped in that place with the same people who hurt him, coerced him into becoming someone else, and made him blame  _ himself  _ for all of it. 

“We have to go now. Or as soon as possible.” Steve spluttered, getting up and grabbing his sweater. No one else moved. 

“Steve.” Sam started, “If we walk in there with no plan, none of us’ll be walking out. Especially not Bucky.” 

Steve felt himself flush and frantically searched his mind for a counter-argument.  _ He needs me  _ now _.  _ That was all he could come up with and it sounded childish even to his own mind. 

“Look, man, I know what you’re going through.” Clint said, coaxing Steve back to the couch. “I had a buddy who was taken hostage while we were on a mission in Istanbul. Real bad dudes picked him up, you know. So I wanted to go charging in there, shoot them all, get him out, all that. But my superior knew that would just get me killed so made us wait three days for the recon and to make a plan. Longest three days of my life.” Clint clicked his tongue and swigged at his beer. 

“But you got him out?” Steve asked.

“What?”

“Your buddy,” He clarified, “after the three days and the plan, you got him out, right?”

“Oh, God, no. They killed him within the first 24 hours.” Clint said with a shrug. 

“Clint!” Said Natasha.

In the same moment, Sam demanded “Dude, what?”

Steve just stared at him. Clint pressed his lips together and offered an awkward half-smile. 

“That’s not the important part, Steve. It’s a  _ whole  _ different situation.” He said, backpedaling. Nat rolled her eyes. 

“They know Barnes.” Natasha said, placing a hand on Clint’s knee, no doubt a reminder that there was a reason she did most of the talking in these situations. “Mironov spent a lot of time and money training him. They’ll want him back. He’s no use to them dead.”

“After all they did to him, Bucky would never go back!” Steve protested. Nat pressed her lips together. 

“Guys like Mironov and Strucker can be very persuasive.” Natasha said. Steve felt like he was going to throw up. They were going to hurt him, weren’t they? As if Bucky hadn’t gone through enough already. 

“How long do you think it’ll take to come up with a plan?” Steve asked. Nat shrugged, exchanging glances with Clint. 

“Two days, I’d say.” She said. Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “That’s the absolute minimum, Steve. I need to call in favours from people I haven’t seen in almost a decade. These things take time.”

“What do we need besides a few weapons and a car?” Steve asked. This time it was Sam’s turn to sigh. 

“You really wanna muscle your way out of this thing? They don’t know we’re coming. If we really wanna do it right, we’ve gotta use their spy shit.” Sam said, gesturing to Nat and Clint. 

“If we surprise them, find a way to sneak in, then maybe we’ve got a shot.” Clint said. 

“Maybe?” Steve echoed. 

“We don’t know how many of them there are.” Nat explained. “It could be four, or it could be forty.” 

“Forty guys with guns?” Sam whistled. “Jeez.” 

“We’re not in the inner circles anymore, so it’ll take us a while to find out.” Nat said, shooting Clint a small smile. “I pissed off most of the people I know with ties to HYDRA, so this’ll be fun. Like a family reunion.” She turned her smirk on Steve. He shifted slightly under her gaze. She gave off a flirtatious sort of charm that sometimes made Steve uncomfortable.

“Let’s hope that stuff about family being forgiving is true, then.” Sam scoffed. 

Steve fiddled with the sticker on his beer bottle, now damp from condensation. What would they do if that wasn’t enough? They couldn’t go in there blind, that was for sure. But if it was between going in blind or not going in at all, Steve didn’t even have to think about it. He was all Bucky had left. If Steve gave up on him, he was as good as dead. Besides, Steve knew in his heart that Bucky would do the same for him.    

***

Vasily Karpov had worked for HYDRA for years. He’d started out with the Vasiliev family in Belarus, but it wasn’t long before the Mironovs offered him something better. They offered him the chance to work with some American soldier who turned up with no memories and only one arm. His first thought had been  _ I’m no damn babysitter, ask someone else _ . But the pay was good, the work was easy, and the Winter Soldier wasn’t hard on the eyes. 

Despite that, he’d gladly taken his next promotion when it was offered. There had been something unsettling about the Winter Soldier, something that still appeared in his nightmares sometimes. Maybe it was the emptiness in his eyes, or the sheer lack of personality or sense of self. Whatever it was, Vasily was glad to work out of New York now. That was, until some military prick showed up flashing a badge and demanding to see a guy named Alexander Pierce. He brought with him none other than the Winter Soldier himself. It was Vasily’s lucky fucking day.

The man’s name turned out to be Rumlow. Sergeant Brock Rumlow. He delivered the Soldier with a megawatt smile and some stories about fighting his own agents and how it looked like  _ he  _ was the hostage, even on the news. Pierce - the annoying, fat bastard - laughed at that. Vasily laughed too, because that Rumlow fella was a damn good storyteller. 

It took three guys to get the Soldier shackled into a chair because he was practically dead weight. Rumlow explained that he didn’t want to take any chances. He pumped the Soldier so full of drugs that he was high as a kite. Vasily laughed at that. He didn’t know exactly what  _ high as a kite _ meant, but it sounded funny coming from Rumlow’s mouth. 

He and Rumlow played a few games of blackjack in the hallway as they waited for Pierce to be done talking to the Winter Soldier. Rumlow talked about his job a little bit, how he’d interrogated the Soldier, even got him to admit to killing Anton Shepokev. Vasily found that impressive. He figured Ivan would find that infuriating. 

“The whole thing was Pierce’s idea. Fucking brilliant, huh?” Rumlow said, “I’ve just gotta lay low for a while, then I come back and say I escaped Barnes’ captivity and  _ ta-da _ , I’m a hero and that fucker is back where he belongs.” Vasily assumed the  _ fucker _ was the Winter Soldier. 

“And you get… big pay, yes?” Vasily asked. His English was pretty good, if he said so himself. 

“Yeah. A fat paycheck and a promotion as long as I keep my mouth shut.” Rumlow said, dealing Vasily one of the cards. He had a terrible hand.

Ivan and the Baron joined Pierce shortly. Vasily couldn’t hear anything on the other side of the door anymore. That was not a good sign. Ivan’s voice was usually booming, unless he was angry. He was strange that way. The Baron, on the other hand, always seemed angry. Vasily did not envy the Soldier. He could think of very few things worse than being in a room alone with three angry, powerful, and dangerous men. That said, the Winter Soldier himself was most of those things. 

Pierce left with Rumlow soon after Ivan and the Baron went in the living room. Vasily had to admit the hallway now seemed a little too quiet without the military man’s stories, and his desk a little too large without a game of blackjack cluttering it up. 

The door to the living room opened once more, and Vasily cringed at the sounds that drifted through the space. The pained grunts were instantly recognizable as the Winter Soldier’s, and the sound of fist colliding with flesh was quite familiar to him. Vasily spun his chair around to face whoever was in the doorway. He stood and inclined his head respectfully as he saw it was Ivan Mironov. 

“I have business to attend to, Vasily Karpov.” Ivan said. Vasily bit back the question on his tongue. 

“Yes, sir.” He answered. “I will make sure no one enters that room until you come back.”

“Unless otherwise instructed by Baron von Strucker.” Ivan corrected. 

“Of course, sir.” Vasily answered. He felt his heart sink. There weren’t many people in the world that he disliked more than the Baron. He had started a joke with some of the other men, where they’d call him  _ Mozart _ (behind his back, of course). Vasily hadn’t been able to help it. The name  _ Wolfgang  _ was just too funny, too foreign not to make jokes about. Unfortunately, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker was not the joking type. He was, however, the type to hold a grudge.

Vasily had just gotten back into his book when Strucker himself opened the door and called out to him. 

“I need you to get my toolbox and start a fire.” He ordered in that silly German accent. Vasily had to force himself not to crack a smile. 

“Uh… yes, sir?” He answered uncertainly. It wasn’t exactly an uncharacteristic request, but usually Strucker wouldn’t touch one of Ivan’s men without him present. Vasily supposed the Winter Soldier didn’t count and got the Baron what he needed. 

_ When Ivan’s away, the Baron will play _ , he thought to himself. He even made up a little song about it as he walked back to his desk.

“I may need your help, Karpov.” The Baron said. Vasily sighed. So much for that promotion. 

 

***

 

The Soldier was in bad shape. He assessed the damage to his body. Fractured ribs, for sure. Hopefully, they weren’t broken. His right cheekbone was throbbing and even opening his mouth made tears well up in his eyes. It almost distracted him from the fact that his jaw hurt like a bitch. His right shoulder was somehow one of the least painful parts of his body at the moment. 

Strucker came back in, this time with someone else. He was holding…  _ no. _ The Soldier squirmed in the chair, tugging futilely at the restraints. He knew what was inside that box. He’d been the one to use those tools on more than one occasion, Strucker standing behind him, instructing him in hushed tones. The images that suddenly came flooding back into the Soldier’s mind made his chest feel slightly heavy with guilt. He remembered how they’d screamed, then the screams had slowly turned into information.  _ Yes, yes! Kovac mentioned something about them being fake! I didn’t know Ivan Mironov was the client! Please! I never intended to - please!  _ The Soldier shook his head to make the voice shut up. 

“After all we did for you, солдат...” Strucker’s voice replaced that of the begging man from his memories. The Soldier had ripped off that man’s fingernails, yet he couldn’t even remember his name. “Have you no gratitude?” 

His jaw hurt too much to answer. It was either broken or dislocated. He wasn’t quite sure.  _ God, just let me die _ . The Soldier wasn’t sure if the thought was his own or if it was just another memory playing in his head.

“You think you would have survived in Sokovia without us? A wounded enemy soldier in a warzone?” Strucker challenged, “you think you could have had  _ this  _ without us?” Strucker put his hand on the Soldier’s metal arm, practically caressing it. 

_ Take it back. I don’t want it anymore _ . Those were definitely the Soldier’s thoughts. 

It was then that the Soldier placed the man that came in with Strucker. His name was Vasily Karpov. He’d been the one who fixed him up after missions. He’d written down all his reports and would answer his stupid questions about when he could go home or how many more missions he would have to do (before he stopped asking questions altogether, that is). Karpov had been impatient most of the time, annoyed at the Soldier for something or another, but he’d never been cruel. The Soldier decided Karpov was his friend. 

“Karpov.” He greeted. His best attempt at a smile was weak and blood tinged his teeth red. It was a truly terrifying sight. 

“Sir? Should Dr. Zola set his shoulder first?” Karpov asked, avoiding looking at the Soldier. 

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll call for the doctor when we’re finished.” Strucker said. The Soldier’s blood turned to ice.  _ Just kill me.  _ There it came again, the phrase that had truly set Strucker off. He’d rather be dead than work for these psychos.

“ убей меня.” It was out of the Soldier’s mouth before he even realized it.  _ Shit _ . 

Strucker was practically shaking with rage.

“ _ Kill you _ ? Why would we do that after all we invested in you?” Strucker’s voice cracked like a whip. The Soldier averted his eyes. He knew Ivan. All Ivan wanted was respect. If he showed him that, the man was understanding. But Strucker… The Soldier didn’t know what he wanted. He could never figure it out. 

The Soldier stared at a point above Strucker’s shoulder. If he looked long enough, maybe the black spots in his vision would grow so large they’d become black holes and swallow him up. 

“You wouldn’t even survive out there.” Strucker scoffed. “Every time you escaped, you came crawling back. Or got yourself caught. You’re weak .  _ Dependant _ . You’d die in a month.” That was a lie. The Soldier was adaptable. And he had  _ Steve. _ He’d find the big, blonde man with the kind smile and everything would be alright. 

“I’ll give you two options.” Strucker said. The Soldier shifted. He never liked this game. It always seemed that whatever he chose was wrong. 

“One.” Strucker opened the toolbox and pulled out a pair of pliers. Those were the tooth-pulling pliers. The Soldier ran his tongue instinctively along his bottom set of teeth, stopping to poke at the healed-over hole that remained from one of his first punishments, back when he screamed things at the guards and tried to strangle the doctors. He’d gotten a lot of punishments back then. 

“Or two?” The next item Strucker removed from the box was unfamiliar. It looked like an old wax seal, like those he’d seen in movies. It resembled a large stamp, complete with the HYDRA emblem. It was made of metal, with a rubber handle. It would hurt to get hit with that. The Soldier assumed that was its purpose. 

“Shall I explain them for you? You seem confused.” Strucker said, leaning patronizingly on his knees so that their faces were uncomfortably close. Strucker even went so far as to reach out a hand and tuck a lock of the Soldier’s long, unwashed hair behind his ear. He smiled when the Soldier tensed. 

“Do you know what it’s like to eat without back teeth?” Strucker asked, a small smirk on his lips. The Soldier shook his head minutely, not liking the direction of this conversation. “Very difficult, and very painful. It might even ruin that pretty jawline of yours.” Strucker continued. 

“How long would you be able to survive out there without eating, солдат?” He taunted. If the Soldier didn’t know better, he’d say Strucker was afraid he was planning to escape.

The Soldier knew Strucker didn’t play around. If he said  _ without _ back teeth, it meant he’d take them all. Not to mention, the Soldier couldn’t open his jaw even a fraction as it was. Having anything inserted into his mouth would be unbearable. He suspected that was Strucker’s plan. His favourite option was probably the second one. 

This was how he operated. The first option would be something so horrible that the Soldier would dismiss it immediately, then the second would be only slightly more favourable, but  _ it was a choice _ . And, as an added bonus, the first option would hover in his mind as the next possible punishment if he stepped out of line. The Soldier remembered it working the in the past. The thought filled him with self-hatred and mild disgust. 

“And now you’re wondering about  _ Nummer zwei _ ?  _ Ja _ ?” Strucker asked, switching to German. The Soldier’s German was passable, but not great. Karpov was standing awkwardly to Strucker’s side, a blank but slightly confused look on his face. The Soldier doubted he knew any German. 

“It’s quite simple, really. It’s like… well, it’s a mark.” Strucker said, his voice taking on that wistful quality it did when he liked something. He held the object in his hand, spinning it absently. The Soldier’s mind slowly caught on. Strucker wanted to  _ brand _ him.  _ Like my left fucking arm isn’t enough, you wanna burn something else into my body? Fuck you!  _

“No.” The Soldier all but growled. Strucker’s eyebrows raised slightly. He hummed under his breath a little, no wonder calculating where his idea went wrong. Again, the Soldier would rather  _ fucking die _ than have these people’s symbol burned into his flesh forever, marking him as their property. It simply was not going to happen. 

“Look at it as a symbol of your devotion,” said Strucker, “It can be your apology. To myself and to  _ Herr _ Mironov. Yes?” He eyed the Soldier expectantly, taking in the state of his jaw and cheekbone. 

“Option one.” The Soldier spat. Strucker couldn’t hide his genuine surprise. It was quickly replaced with a mixture of anger and annoyance. He clicked his tongue. 

“Very well.” He said. “Karpov.” He gestured for the young Russian to take the pliers. Karpov’s gaze shifted between Strucker and the Soldier. 

“Sir? You’re not going to do it yourself?” Karpov asked, a slight edge of fear to his voice. Strucker’s lips curled into a cruel half-smile. 

“You used to be in charge of him. Show him you still are.” Strucker ordered, pressing the pliers into the man’s hand. Karpov laughed uncertainty, his eyes widening with panic. The Soldier wondered if this man had also done something to anger Strucker. It seemed quite likely. 

Karpov licked his lips, staring at the rusty pliers in his hand. He was muttering to himself, something about a promotion. The Soldier wasn’t paying attention. He was thinking about kind blue eyes and a warm smile and the laugh of a man named Steve. 

Vasily held the Soldier’s chin in his hand, his touch not quite as rough as expected. The Soldier’s mind must have been further gone than he’d thought, because he could have sworn he heard the man whisper  _ I’m sorry _ . 

He screamed. The jaw pain itself nearly made him black out, but with the cheekbone combined, the Soldier was nearly delirious with agony. Through the tears blocking his vision, he noticed Vasily’s chin wobbling slightly, his face contorted with emotion.

“His mouth won’t open any more, sir.” Karpov said, his voice breaking. 

“The jaw appears to be dislocated.” Strucker said, watching with rapt interest. “Put it back first.” Karpov’s eyes widened. His mouth moved wordlessly, but the Soldier could make out the words if he focused hard enough. Я не могу. _I can’t_.

“Karpov.” Strucker urged. 

The young man exhaled in a quick burst before popping the Soldier’s jawbone back into place, closing his eyes when the Soldier howled in pain. Vasily placed a hand on the Soldier’s neck, shaking him a little to keep him from passing out. The Soldier tried thinking of Steve again, of that picture he showed him. He had a friend.  _ Two friends _ .  _ Karpov is my friend too _ , the Soldier thought. 

The Soldier tried to convince himself he was ready when Karpov put the pliers back in his mouth, but pain still exploded in his jaw and the right side of his face, and the tooth had yet to be touched. The Soldier couldn’t breathe. His chest was heaving so quickly the pliers knocked around against his incisors. The screams that tore from his throat ripped it raw. 

Karpov squeezed the tooth. He’d clearly had previous experience. He twisted it and pulled it out in one smooth motion. Blood poured from the Soldier’s mouth and he hissed between his teeth, tears stinging his eyes as he squeezed them shut against the blinding pain. It was too much coming from too many places. The Soldier could feel himself shutting down. Blood and spit dribbled down his chin and onto the uniform. 

“One down, eleven to go.” Strucker said in a sing-song voice. The Soldier met his eyes.  _ You wanted me to hate you. Well, congratulations, I fucking do _ . Strucker clicked his tongue. “Hmm. You’ve gotten better at that look. You’d have a weaker man trembling. I’m sure of it.” 

The Soldier was pretty sure he’d have Strucker trembling too if the situation were different. Hell, even if it was the same minus the restraints. He’d choke him to death with the metal hand and  _ relish _ the moment the life left his steely blue eyes. 

Karpov sighed and wiped a hand across his forehead. There was a soft  _ clink _ as he dropped the bloody tooth into a small bowl. 

The Soldier recalled the agony. He could still feel it.  _ Eleven more _ . He couldn’t do it. Either it was reliving that agonizing pain eleven times, or one brand.  _ One _ . How much was his pride really worth? Hell, how much of that did he even have left? The Soldier knew he’d pass out after the next one. It was inevitable. He was barely holding onto consciousness as it was.  _ I can’t do eleven more. I can’t. I fucking can’t. I won’t. _

“Option two.” The Soldier choked, wincing as pain shot up his jaw. He let the blood from his mouth drip onto his lap, unable to face the agony of actually _spitting_ _it out_. 

“What was that, солдат?” Strucker smiled, giddy like a child. He was getting his way, after all. The Soldier had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep them from watering due to humiliation. 

“I pick option two.” The Soldier said. He felt his face twitch into a series of pathetically sad-looking half-smiles. He brushed them off as involuntary tics. 

“I thought you might.” Strucker said softly. “Remember,  _ compliance _ is rewarded. Even now, a little loyalty could have saved you quite a bit of agony.”

The Soldier’s gaze snapped to something moving in his peripherals. Karpov was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. He still held the blood-covered pliers in his hand and they dripped onto his clothing; Vasily didn’t seem to notice. If anything, he looked more relieved about the Soldier’s choice than anyone else.

The Soldier hadn’t noticed that Strucker had moved behind him. He felt his hands drop to his sides, free of restraints. The blood that suddenly rushed back to the fingers of his right hand gave them a strangely heavy, tingling feeling. He flexed his fingers. Not having metal enclosed around his wrist was so  _ alien _ after being at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base for so long, and then in the truck, and then here… The tiniest ghost of a smile flashed across his face. It didn’t last for more than a second, but the way Strucker’s lips quirked let the Soldier know he’d caught it. 

“I’m not a bad person, солдат. You  _ make  _ me that way when you fail to comply.” Strucker said. Well, he  _ did  _ undo the handcuffs. Maybe what he was saying was true. Damn, it was nice not to have metal digging into the either raw or scabbed-over flesh on his wrists. It was so, so nice. 

The thought of clasping his metal fingers around the German’s throat never crossed his mind in that moment. All the Soldier thought was  _ thank god  _ and  _ that wasn’t so hard _ . 

“We want the best for you. We want you to succeed in your missions. All you have to do in return is  _ co-operate _ .” Strucker said matter-of-factly. 

Strucker handed the Soldier a blunt, metal object. His brow furrowed in confusion as he registered what it was. The end of it glowed yellow, orange, and red. It made it seem as if the heads of the hydra were on fire. 

Strucker used his pocket knife to slice through the Soldier’s prison uniform in one swift motion, revealing his bare scarred chest. 

“It’s not truly a statement of your loyalty unless you do it yourself.” He said, his voice eerily calm. The Soldier’s hand shook. He switched the iron to his left hand instead, hoping it wouldn’t tremble quite as severely. 

“I can’t.” A broken, raspy voice said. The movement of his facial muscles made his whole body jerk from the sudden discomfort. Strucker knelt next to the Soldier, putting one hand on the back of his neck. He squeezed it slightly, both as a comfort and a warning. 

“You know your options.” Strucker whispered. The Soldier nodded absently. He closed his eyes, willing Steve’s face to appear on the inside of his eyelids. That slowed his racing pulse by a few beats. 

It was easier not to look at the sinister-looking HYDRA symbol glowing in his hand. It was easier to hold it close enough to his skin to feel the heat emanating and then close his eyes, press his hands to his chest, and scream.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things get better for poor Bucky !!


	8. Mission Report: April 24, 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's first attempt at assassinating Tony Stark goes wrong for an unexpected reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little mini-chapter I guess because it didn't quite fit in the last one or the next one :))

April 25, 2018 (Six Weeks Earlier)

  
  


The Soldier was angry. He clenched his jaw as Zemo dug the tip of an arrow from his side. He was lucky to have been wearing his protective vest, or else it could have done some major damage. 

“Who the hell uses arrows anymore?” Helmut Zemo complained. The Soldier knew he wasn’t actually being addressed, so he kept his eyes on the ceiling. He barely flinched as Zemo stitched him up and sanitized the wound. 

The Soldier wasn’t supposed to interact with Zemo, even though he was Karpov’s replacement. Someone had mentioned that the Soldier had lost his mind after a mission and tried to kill Zemo at one point. The Soldier wasn’t surprised since the young handler always put him on edge. Part of him supposed that was the idea. If Zemo only showed up when a mission was starting to go to shit, the Soldier understood the expectations and unmentioned threats associated with his arrival. 

“Good afternoon, солдат.” Zemo said, his voice level and professional as always. That was the Soldier’s cue to put his shirt back on and await further instructions. It occurred to the Soldier that if Zemo was here at all, this afternoon was hardly  _ good _ . 

“Mission report.” Zemo ordered, firing up his laptop. His eyes never left the screen as the Soldier relayed the happenings of that day. He wrote everything down word for word, sometimes adding small observations and notes.

_ No eye contact, no physical contact, and absolutely no non-mandatory conversation _ . The strict rules made the Soldier regret trying to kill this man. At least his other handlers occasionally got bored and made idle conversation (mostly with themselves than with him, but at least it was something). Zemo was quiet, rigid, and perfectly content sitting in complete silence just observing the Soldier. It was like he was testing his limits every time they met. How long and uncomfortable could the silent scrutiny get until the Soldier broke protocol?  _ Should’ve finished the damn job _ . The Soldier’s eyes unconsciously widened in surprise at his own thoughts. 

“Your mission hasn’t changed.” Zemo said, though that much had been obvious. “Mironov will give you two more days.”

“I only need one.” The Soldier said. 

Zemo scoffed and the Soldier could feel the contempt in his gaze even though his own eyes remained on his hands, now clasped tightly in his lap. The blood from the arrow wound was beginning to seep through both the bandage and his shirt.

The Soldier didn’t know what happened yesterday. He’d had Stark in his sights, his finger on the trigger... Then he saw a road sign that felt weirdly familiar. The next thing he knew, his concentration was broken, there was an arrow in his side, and Stark was rushed into a security vehicle before the Soldier could react. When he turned to find whoever had shot him, there was no one there. Besides, that man wasn’t his mission. Stark was his mission. One of the most important parts of this hit was anonymity. Running through New York after some idiot with a bow and arrow would hardly keep him anonymous. 

“Have I been here before?” The Soldier asked, fully aware he was breaking the terms of his contract. He couldn’t get that crooked road sign out of his mind. There’d been something written on it. The Soldier hadn’t been able to make it out, but he somehow knew it said ‘ _ Call 917-263-7422 for a good time’ _ , with the letters half blocked out and the numbers smudged. 

 

_ “Bucky, why would you do that?” Steve said, his voice getting higher as he became both angry and amused.  _

_ “You’ve been single for too long,” Bucky joked, ruffling Steve’s golden hair.  _

_ “This makes it seem like I’m a hooker!” Steve said. His expression looked angry but his eyes were shining with mirth. Bucky snorted a laugh and shrugged.  _

_ “Maybe you’ll be surprised.” _

_ “No. No, I won’t.” Steve protested, wiping at the words with his sleeve. All that did was smudge the numbers. Steve groaned.  _

_ “Gimme the dang marker, Buck.” Steve said. Bucky grinned.  _

_ “In your dreams, pal.” _

_ “You’re a jerk.” Steve shook his head but was unable to hide his growing smile.  _

_ “You’ll thank me later.”  _

 

The Soldier shook his head to clear it. What the fuck was that? Zemo narrowed his eyes at the Soldier. 

“You’ve been here for the last two days.” Zemo said. He bit his bottom lip and fiddled with his phone, brow creased in concentration. The Soldier guessed he was wondering whether or not to call for backup.

“Before that.” The Soldier clarified. 

“No fucking questions. You know the drill, солдат.” Zemo said, his voice sharp. The Soldier instinctively flinched back. He clearly hadn’t been the only one who’d received intimidation tips from Strucker. 

Zemo exhaled through his nose and waited for the notification sound on his phone to go off. He then read whatever appeared a few times over before clearing his throat and pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his bag. The Soldier didn’t miss the slight tremor in his hand. Whatever the Soldier had done that brought about the change in his contract had clearly scarred the young HYDRA affiliate. He thought of apologizing, but thought better of it. The Soldier had no idea what he would even be apologizing for. 

The Soldier settled back into the small plastic chair in his temporary apartment. Without speaking to one another, this would be a long day. He thought back to the road sign. The Soldier  _ knew _ he’d been here before, a long time ago. He could feel it. He’d been someone else then, he could feel that too. The Soldier didn’t remember it, but it itched at the back of his mind.

“I think I used to live here.” The Soldier admitted quietly. 

Zemo huffed in annoyance and slapped the Soldier across the face so quickly he almost wasn’t expecting it. 

“Are we going to have a problem?” Zemo demanded. He muttered something to himself in Sokovian about  _ this stupid fucking job _ and lit his cigarette. Zemo had been the Soldier’s handler long enough for him to gauge his reactions. He never liked using physical violence, he usually preferred to watch. Something strangely akin to guilt flashed across Zemo’s features as he exhaled white smoke. 

The Soldier hadn’t realized how much he’d been staring at the cigarette in Zemo’s hand, so he was surprised when the pack was outstretched to him. The Soldier’s eyes flickered to Zemo’s face for confirmation. The young handler gave him a tiny nod, his eyes clearly relaying the message that this show of weakness on his part should never be mentioned again. The Soldier’s gaze quickly dropped back to the red patch growing on his flank.

The Soldier held the fragile thing in his flesh hand so he didn’t crush it. They were the skinny hand-rolled type East Europeans seemed to like so much. Zemo lit it for him and the Soldier wondered how many rules they were currently breaking. 

Cigarettes weren’t something the Soldier remembered liking. That suddenly seemed so strange because  _ holy fuck _ he’d missed them. The Soldier felt instantly more relaxed. The taste was bitter but so wonderfully familiar that he sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. 

 

_ “You and your cancer sticks.” Steve said, coughing into his sleeve.  _

_ “Oh, right. Sorry.” Bucky said with a sheepish smirk. He’d forgotten about Steve’s asthma. Bucky tapped the ash outside the window before extinguishing it in the ashtray. “I’m just stressed out, is all.”  _

_ “Don’t be. You’ll be great.” Steve said, his hand on Bucky’s knee. Bucky sighed, his hands shaking slightly as they waited outside his C.O.’s office. Bucky shifted in his uniform, rehearsing what to say in the interview under his breath. His voice dropped comically lower as he asked himself mock questions and he noticed a small, fond smile growing on Steve’s face. _

_ “ _ Sergeant Barnes _. That sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?” Bucky said with a nervous laugh, “I mean, it’s no Steven G. Rogers, Ph.D, but it’s alright.” That got a laugh from Steve.  _

_ “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’ve barely even started my degree.” Steve rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were flushed pink. Bucky always loved when he made Steve blush.  _

_ “And you’re already published.” Bucky said, slugging his friend on the shoulder. “Once you graduate, the world’s not gonna know what hit ‘em.”  _

 

The Soldier only broke himself out of his mindless bliss because he could feel Zemo’s gaze on him. He couldn’t place that man in his thoughts. He was familiar, the Soldier was sure of that. But he didn’t recognize him. The Soldier took another drag from the cigarette, though it was getting close to the filter now. Maybe if he made it last, he could remember more about the blond who kept appearing in his head.

“Finish the job tomorrow and I’ll give you another one of those.” Zemo said. That seemed like a good deal. The Soldier wanted to finish the job tomorrow anyway. Sudden disappointment filled the Soldier’s body when he realized he’d finished his cigarette. 

Zemo got another notification on his phone and his brow furrowed as he read the text. 

“Change of plans, солдат. Stark will be picking up the shipment tonight.” Zemo said. 

“ **Поспевать.”** Zemo ordered, his voice uncharacteristically rich with authority.  _ Get ready _ . All the Soldier could hear was Strucker. 

The Soldier sprang to action immediately, strapping on his protective vest and tactical gear. Zemo was the only one allowed to touch the weapons while they were inside the apartment so he was the one to strap the guns and knives to the Soldier’s body. Zemo read aloud a few words, mostly trigger phrases that got the Soldier combat ready. He stretched out his muscles and injected himself twice, once for the pain, and once for increased adrenaline for the next few hours. By the time the other handlers joined them, all thoughts of a blonde man with a warm laugh had disappeared. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((yes, Hawkeye's involvement comes into play))


	9. Codename: Hawkeye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue plan is in effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking there'll be two more chapters after this one so enjoy the endgame :))

Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He was done waiting. It had been two days already and Nat and Clint didn’t seem to be much closer to finalizing the plan. Natasha had been out of contact with HYDRA for years and Clint seemed to be spending all his time trying to track down a former associate who _may have_ worked on the Winter Soldier project. Steve himself was useless in this equation. He went to the gym and did some fight training with Sam to get the nerves out, but that only accounted for a few hours a day. The more time he had to think about Bucky, the more Steve started to lose his mind.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Nat’s voice said. She came behind Steve so quietly that he jumped nearly a foot in the air.

“I can’t just leave him there.” Steve said, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. It held a few guns, the maps, and some snacks.

“Tell me you’re joking.” Nat said, closing the distance between them in a few smooth steps. Everything about the way she moved screamed elegance, grace, and danger.

“We - I - can’t sit around and wait anymore,” Steve said, “every second I’m here and not _there_ , I wonder what the hell they’re doing to him. Bucky might be dead for all I know! And I know where they are, so…” Steve’s voice cracked slightly, but he took a deep breath to stabilize it.

“So you’re gonna get yourself killed and that’ll fix everything?”

“Whatever it takes.” Steve insisted stubbornly. Natasha sighed with a sort of motherly frustration.

“Steve, listen.” Natasha said. She laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know Bucky means a lot to you. I understand. But if we don’t do this right, we’re just going to make everything worse. For you, for me, and especially for Bucky.”

Steve shook his head, fiddling with the strap of his bag again. Nat moved her hand from his shoulder to the backpack.

“Steve, _please_. Just one more day.” Nat begged. Steve crushed his jaw and stared at the ceiling, trying to keep his eyes from watering. He couldn’t sit here for another day doing nothing while somewhere Bucky needed him. He just couldn’t.

“I can’t do it, Natasha. I’m sorry.” Steve said. He shook her hand off and turned to leave. Nat’s hand clasped around the backpack strap. She was stronger than she looked and Steve stumbled at the sudden force opposing him. Steve glared at the ex-spy. She shot him a smirk.

“At least let me show you something first,” she said, “so you know what you’re dealing with.” Steve thought it might be a ruse to get him to wait, but he couldn’t deny that he needed all the intel he could get.

“Fine.”

 

Nat fired up her laptop, propping her feet up on the desk. Steve leaned awkwardly against her chair, not wanting to sit down since that seemed to permanent. He wanted Nat to know he hadn’t changed his mind about leaving.

The video started off in grainy black and white, following a few security workers at what looked like a storage facility. The security workers walked around and went for a smoke break.

“Unless this is the HYDRA safehouse, I really don’t see -”

“Shut up and watch.” Nat ordered. She reached for a bag of chips and Steve assumed she’d seen this more than once. “You’re almost at the good part.” Steve’s eyebrows creased as he looked questioningly over at her.

One of them suddenly dropped to the ground. The second security guard drew his gun and talked into a walkie before dropping a few seconds later. A dark puddle was growing under their bodies. Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Those men were innocent.

A figure stepped into the frame, making a beeline for the bodies. He collected their weapons and stored them in one of the many pockets in his leather jacket. The lights in the ceiling of the warehouse glinted off what appeared to be a metal arm.

“Is that-”

“The one and only,” Nat answered before Steve could finish, “The Winter Soldier.”  

Bucky moved quickly, stripping the security jacket off one of the men and putting it on himself. He relayed something into the walkie and then paused, as if listening. Bucky looked over his shoulder and straight at the camera, taking a few steps towards is. Before being able to disable the camera, the warehouse was swarming with security.

Bucky dove behind a stack of boxes labelled ‘Stark’ and pulled out an AR-15 assault rifle.

“Bucky, no…” Steve whispered, the words just slipping out of his mouth. Nat stopped mid-chew to shoot him and amused yet sad look.

Bucky checked over his shoulder and talked into a different apparatus, no doubt one that relayed instructions from HYDRA. Mere seconds later he was stepping out of cover, bullets flying at the security officers. The split second of hesitation that Bucky’s disguise caused gave him time to kill at least three before stepping into the cover of a small forklift. One of the remaining officers came near, weapon drawn. Bucky fired a few shots and then closed the distance between them dizzyingly quickly, disabling the man with his flesh arm and snapping his neck with the metal one. Steve felt his mouth fall open in a small ‘o’. Nat could have made a myriad of snarky comments, but chose to say nothing.

The last security officer was _screaming_ into his walkie talkie now, calling for any sort of backup. He fired at Bucky without much luck and soon received a blow to the head from the butt of the AR-15, knocking him hopefully only unconscious. Again, Bucky turned towards the camera, pointing his rifle towards it. He paused and listened to his line of communication again, nodding and turning to grab the security officer at his feet and dragging him towards the door of the warehouse by his collar. Blood trailed behind him. Bucky was walking unnervingly slowly, as if anything that could come his way was just a slight inconvenience that wouldn’t take much energy to overtake. It sent a shudder up Steve’s spine when he realized that he was probably right.

“How did you get this?” Steve whispered to Nat. The video was marked as being from April 25, 2018. That was the day the attempted assassination of Tony Stark went viral, a still from this exact footage posted on every TV channel in America. The full video was said to have vanished into thin air. Now Steve knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had made it Level 10 confidential, which made Natasha having access to it even more impressive.

“I have my ways.” Nat said. Steve didn’t doubt it. Natasha seemed to have a pretty extensive skill set when it came to technology and finding out things she wasn’t supposed to know. Steve hoped that would continue to come in handy.

Steve’s eyes were locked to the screen, not wanting to look away for a second. Bucky even stacked the bodies behind the pile of boxes he’d used as cover earlier, swaggering as calmly as ever. It made Steve _angry_ somehow, that Bucky could seem so relaxed after having snapped a man’s neck only moments earlier. This wasn’t Bucky. He’d been told by so many people already, but finally it was _real_. That man was the Winter Soldier. Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

A truck pulled in moments later, followed by an expensive-looking Audi that Steve immediately recognized as being one of Tony Stark’s. Steve rarely admitted it, but he had a collection of STARK industries magazines, especially the ones that showcased Tony’s car collection. It must have had something to do with Steve never having a car of his own. Nevertheless, it was a guilty pleasure he’d _never_ allow Tony to find out about.

Steve wanted to yell through the screen at the armoured delivery truck to back right up and get out of there. A small pile of boxes was in their way, so the driver got out to observe. Steve wished he could force him to get back in the truck. His fists were clenched tight by his sides. Instead of only the Winter Soldier this time, he was accompanied by a man who gave him a freshly loaded weapon. It looked larger than the assault rifle, longer and thicker and… _holy shit_ . Bucky was holding a rocket launcher, pointed at civilians. Steve’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. _Oh, please, Bucky, don’t_.

Bucky aimed at a very specific spot near the front wheels, no doubt a weak spot HYDRA had informed him about. The entire hood of the truck burst into flame, pieces of metal and debris flying several feet away. Bucky held the launcher out to his associate, who switched it for a Heckler & Koch MP5. Two security officers had been in the truck as well. The one in the front seat was most definitely dead. The one in the back crawled out, shooting a few rounds before getting a bullet through the skull.

With his metal left arm, Bucky ripped the door from the Audi. There was a small flash from the inside of the car as Tony presumably shot at him. Bucky stumbled back as one of Tony’s bullets hit him in the right arm. Bucky hauled Tony from the car with his left arm, angrily hitting him across the face with his gun. Surprisingly, Tony put up quite a fight. Every time Bucky knocked him down, he got back up. Bucky finally pointed the MP5 at Tony’s head. Steve could feel himself shaking. Even though he knew how this ended, Steve couldn’t help but sweat nervously.

Bucky dropped his gun a few inches and touched his hand to his temple as if to relieve some sort of migraine. His gun was pointed at Tony’s head again a few seconds later. Even with the low quality footage, Steve could see the gun shaking with Bucky’s hand. The same guy who’d easily blown through at least seven guys was now hesitating at his mark. _Why?_ Not that Steve was complaining, but he couldn’t figure it out.

It happened so quickly Steve almost missed it. One second Bucky’s gun was pointed at Tony, and the next, Bucky’s handler was on the ground and Bucky hit Tony in the head with the butt of his gun so hard it was sure to have caused some damage. Stark hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. Bucky hesitated, looking over at the camera. He didn’t have time to disable it because all of a sudden bright, red lights appeared and he jerked his head to the side as if a siren just started. Bucky ran and the screen was now still. No one was moving. The only thing that let Steve know that the video was still running was the smoke coming from the hood of the armoured vehicle.

Natasha paused the video, looking over at Steve expectantly.

“He could’ve done it,” Steve said, “but he didn’t.” Again, Steve couldn’t help but wonder what had gone through Bucky’s head that could have stopped the steely cold _machine_ that had stood in his place only moments earlier.

“But you saw what he was like.” Nat said. “He killed those guys without even blinking.” Steve detected a note of admiration in her voice.

Steve had heard stories about Bucky from some of his war buddies. They’d described him as competent and a hell of a shot, but never emotionless and mechanically efficient like the Bucky on that footage. If anything, this solidified Steve’s resolve.

“Whatever they did to him, they’re just gonna do it again.” Steve said. Bucky was a force to be reckoned with as the Winter Soldier. He’d be crazy to think HYDRA would pass up the opportunity to use him as their hitman again.

“The longer we wait, the less of Bucky’s gonna be left in him.” Steve said.

“The Bucky you knew is dead, Steve.” Nat said quietly. “There’s no coming back from what he’s been through.”

“He needs our help! What if we wait too long and he turns into _that_ again?” Steve exclaimed, pointing to the security footage. The image of Bucky smoothly snapping a man’s neck with his metal arm and throwing him aside like garbage was burned into his eyelids.

“ _Steve_.” Nat said insistently. Nat met Steve’s eyes and was pleading with him now. “You have to be prepared for the chance that he already has. If he doesn’t remember you, you won’t be able to stop him. He’ll kill you or turn you over. Either way, you have to consider the possibilities.”

Steve pulled up a chair and sat down. He cradled his chin in his hands, leaning against his knees. The man at the start of that footage wasn’t Bucky. Natasha was right. That guy would hand him to HYDRA or kill him in a heartbeat. But when he hesitated at the end when Tony kept getting back up… Steve felt all his breath escape him. _Oh my God._ Tony kept _getting back up_. How many times had Bucky been on Steve’s ass about that? He used to tell him that he should just stay down when it was a fight he couldn’t win. Tony didn’t have a chance against the Winter Soldier, not when he’d lost all his guys and was unarmed. But the way he kept fighting must have triggered something in Bucky, some distant part of him that still remembered Brooklyn, and Steve, and having to finish Steve’s fights when he stubbornly stood his ground. Steve felt like he could either shout with joy, throw up, or cry. Perhaps all of the above.

“He remembered.” Steve whispered.

“What?” Natasha asked.

“I know why he sabotaged his mission.” Steve said. Natasha glanced over at him, but something in his expression kept her from asking further questions. All she did was lay a hand on his knee, keeping it there as he stared at the wall thinking about Bucky. His heart was beating a million beats per minute and every time he pictured Bucky’s face it hurt like a knife in the gut.

***

 

Solitaire was boring. There was no betting, no stakes, and no opportunity for bragging rights. Vasily Karpov had always hated solitaire, but there were only so many card games you could play at a desk by yourself. His job was mind-numbingly simple when there were no major missions in progress. All he did was take I.D’s, take weapons, and ensure everyone had a reason to be here. If they didn’t, then he got to do the fun stuff and use the gun in the desk drawer. That was the only part he missed about being the Winter Soldier’s handler, getting to go on missions.

As a kid, Vasily had dreamt of being a KGB officer like his dad. He’d applied for both the FSR and SVR when the KGB was disbanded, but didn’t get accepted to either one because of one stupid test score (who needs psychological stability, anyway?). He spent a few years in the military before being discharged for misconduct. In his defense, it was only smuggling and his superiors loved him for it until he got caught. Karpov assumed that was what kept him from more serious punishment. Nevertheless, with that on his record and his personal connections, HYDRA was the most logical next step. And it paid well. Sue him for finding that tempting.

For the past three days, Vasily might as well have never been promoted. Since Oleg was shot by the Winter Soldier and Zemo was dicking around in Sokovia or wherever, he’d been relegated to handler status all over again.

“If I quit, you’ll never see me again. What do you think about that?” Vasily asked the Winter Soldier. He’d just been injected by Zola about an hour ago, so his eyes were vacant and glazed. Vasily knew he could say anything and his scrambled-ass brain wouldn’t remember a thing in a few minutes. But he had to tell _someone_ he was looking to get out.

The Soldier didn’t answer. Then again, he never really did. It was like talking to a brick wall sometimes.

“I’m gonna get a new identity, Soldier.” Vasily said, watching his tone so the Winter Soldier didn’t accidentally activate from hearing the word солдат. He was still trying to figure out _how_ he’d go about getting a new identity. Most of his contacts were affiliated with HYDRA in some way or were too far in the past to owe him any favours. Nevertheless, a man could hope.

“And when I do, I’ll be outta here before you can say _freightcar.”_ Vasily had to be careful with that word, too. Out of sequence and without much authority behind it, he doubted just saying the word would do much, but it was hard to predict. He was quite sure a stupid mistake like that had gotten one of the past handlers some pretty nasty scars. Now that he thought about it, he’d been the one to dare the guy to yell ‘ _daybreak, seventeen’_ during one of the Soldier’s unstable periods. Oops.

In all honesty, Vasily actually liked having someone he could vent to without expecting a reaction in return. It sure beat talking to himself in the mirror. That always made him feel like an idiot.

Vasily took the bandages off the Soldier’s chest and side. He cleared his throat slightly as he tugged the bandage off the burn on his chest. The fibres had fused into the angry red skin. He was as careful as he could be considering he was on a tight schedule, but the Soldier still grunted in pain. Vasily checked it for signs of infection but it didn’t seem too bad. The HYDRA symbol stood out in thick, inflamed red lines that oozed some sort of liquid. It was nasty, really. Vasily bandaged it up fairly quickly just to get it out of his face.

“You remember me, right?” Vasily asked, peering into the Soldier’s empty grey-blue eyes. They shifted over his face, carefully avoiding eye contact.

“Yeah.” The Soldier managed, his voice rough and scratchy. Vasily nodded. He wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse about that.

The Soldier’s skin was a mess of black, blue and dark red. Dr. Zola had set his shoulder and checked his ribs for breaks, but none of that helped with the unsightly bruising. His face was even worse. The Soldier had a dark, crusty scab on his cheekbone where the skin had split and his jaw was bruised and swollen, dried blood stuck to the corners of his lips. Vasily tried to avoid looking at him for longer than necessary, remembering the way he’d screamed around Vasily’s hand as he dug out one of his molars. _Fuck, are you getting soft_?

“You don’t look so good, comrade.” Vasily said, trying to make a joke of it. He frowned as he remembered the Soldier had zero sense of humour after injections. As expected, he received no reaction.

“Not funny, I know.” Vasily said absently. His eyes were trained on the Soldier’s metal arm. That was the only part of him that didn’t make Vasily’s throat constrict slightly. He kicked himself for being such a little bitch. He could hear his father laughing in his head, saying he was right about him. _Fuck off, I can handle this_.

Vasily had actually liked the Soldier before the Winter Soldier project started getting really intense. He’d been pretty funny back then, actually. Playing blackjack with an actual opponent hadn’t been too bad, either.

 

_“So how many more times do I need to do that?” Barnes asked. He flexed the fingers on the metal arm, hearing it whir quietly as it recalibrated. “I mean, I get that this thing was expensive and all and, seriously, thanks, but there’s probably people looking for me out there.”_

_Vasily caught the badly-hidden fear in the man’s voice easily. It had been three missions now, each one more dangerous and high-profile than the last. Anyone with a brain could tell that Ivan and Strucker had taken specific notice of his skillset. Barnes was starting to catch on that this deal wouldn’t be as cut-and-dry as it had seemed when he signed the contract. Vasily didn’t want to mention that there had been a fair bit of vague fine-print that the Mironovs could exploit. Barnes’s Russian was good, but not good enough to catch the nuances. Poor bastard._

_“You can’t ask me stuff like that.” Vasily said. Barnes sighed on the other side of the bars, collecting the cards they’d been playing with and shuffling them expertly. They both sat cross-legged on the dusty concrete floor, the cards spread out on Vasily’s side of the bars. Vasily was happy to see that Barnes was a card man, too._

_“So, what? Am I a POW or an employee? I signed a contract and everything, didn’t I? POW’s don’t normally do that.” Barnes said. He was nervous. He wouldn’t meet Vasily’s gaze. Vasily almost laughed out loud at his naivety._

_“You owe HYDRA a debt and they don’t take that lightly. Contract covers the bases.” Vasily answered. The best approach was to be vague, but overall friendly. Barnes was too desperate for human interaction to jeopardize their tenuous relationship._

_“Yeah, but is the cell and shit really necessary? I mean, I kill people for you,” Barnes lowered his voice slightly, as if someone was waiting to catch him admitting a crime, “If I was gonna escape, I’d do it on a job, not here.” If that was supposed to be reassuring to Vasily, it unfortunately had the opposite effect. That was the kind of information he had to pass on. The next hit, he’d have two handlers nearby instead of one. Mironov was paranoid about that kind of stuff._

_“Probably shouldn’t have said that.” Vasily said. Barnes’s eyes widened and he backtracked._

_“I just meant that, you know…” Barnes trailed off, realizing that anything he said would just dig him in deeper. Vasily shrugged. He hoped this guy wouldn’t attempt escape. His life would take a steep downward turn if he did. Mironov had no patience for anything he took as disrespectful. Barnes would be as good as dead if he did that._

_“Can I trust you?” Barnes asked, though the pleading quality in his eyes told Vasily he didn’t really care what his answer was. He seemed different today, almost as if he were set on going home. Except Barnes supposedly didn’t remember where he came from, so that couldn’t be true. Unless, of course, his memory was starting to come back…_

_“You remembered something, didn’t you?” Vasily asked. Barnes’s eyes flashed and he offered Vasily a smooth, disarming smile that probably worked wonders on a lot of people._

_“C’mon, man. I’m just trying to-”_

_“Ivan told you to come to him immediately if you remembered anything. And you agreed.”  Vasily reminded him. To be honest, he didn’t blame the guy for doubting HYDRA had his best interests at heart. They were all about money, not helping lost soldiers find their home or whatever._

_“It’s not important.” Barnes said quietly, though Vasily could tell that was a lie. It was affecting his attitude and behaviour, so obviously it meant something._

_“That better be true.” Vasily said. Barnes had never mentioned ‘people looking for him’ before either, now that he thought of it. He’d have to pass that on to Mironov as well. Vasily had a bad feeling that Dr. Zola would start getting involved if the behavioural changes continued and started to affect Barnes’ work. That doctor gave him the creeps._

_“I think my name might actually be Steve.” Barnes said, his brow furrowing. “Or maybe… I don’t know, it just...” He trailed off, biting at his bottom lip. Vasily decided that name wouldn’t suit him. Usually, they would just refer to him as ‘the Soldier’ since no one knew what the hell else to call him, but he’d mentioned the name Barnes before so, as weird of a name as that was, that’s what Vasily had been calling him. It was awkward on his tongue and didn’t flow well in Russian, so he usually avoided using names all together._

_“If that’s all, then you’re right it’s not important.” Vasily said. Barnes barked out a short laugh and shot him that wide, slightly crooked smile again. This guy would probably make a good wingman if the situation were different._

_“Am I American?” Barnes asked. He ran his metal fingers through his short hair. It was starting to get a little long so he kept pushing it back every once in a while._

_“I think so.” Vasily offered. That would make sense given his accent, but Vasily hadn’t encountered many English-speakers. Barnes could be British, Canadian, or Australian for all he could tell._

_“Oh.” Barnes stared absently at their card game, his eyes moving quickly as if he were reading something. Vasily was getting a bad feeling about all this. One of the most crucial parts of Barnes’ contract hinged on the fact that he didn’t have any particular alliances. This could be a problem._

_“You’re a high-end hooker who services the American military. The uniform turns them on.” Vasily said, fighting to keep his face as straight as possible. Barnes’ eyes actually widened in horror for a split second before he caught on._

_“Asshole!” He said with a laugh. “Jeez, you had me going for a minute there._ Fuck me _.” Barnes said the last part in English and it seemed weird, given that Vasily had only ever heard that phrase in American porno movies. He figured he must’ve been playing along with Vasily’s joke and chuckled._

_“For future reference, I prefer the term ‘escort’,” Barnes said with a crooked smirk. Vasily snorted a laugh and started dealing out the cards. It was his turn to awkwardly avoid eye contact._

_Guilt crept up in Vasily’s chest when he remembered he still needed to pass on the key points of their conversation. Some of the things Barnes had said would surely complicate his situation. Poor fella. He seemed like a decent guy._

 

The recollection only intensified Vasily’s guilt and status as human garbage. He’d buried those memories in the back of his mind so long ago that the sudden reminder caused him physical pain to his gut. It was always easier to forget that the Soldier used to be a regular person with emotions and human connections and just pretend he’d always been what he was now. It was the only way this whole thing worked.

“The escort life’s getting a little rough, huh?” Vasily attempted a joke again as he offered the Soldier a small glass of salt water as a disinfectant for his mouth. Again, he saw no reaction, not even a tiny glint in the Soldier’s eye signaling he remembered that conversation.

This had been one of the reasons he was happy to get off the Winter Soldier project. There were days when the job was boring or frustrating and Vasily would get violent and short-tempered. Those days he could deal with. Vodka would ease his conscience pretty quickly. It was the days where he had time to think and his feelings started to catch up with him that were the worst. Vasily wasn’t supposed to feel bad for the Soldier. That shit could ruin his life.

 

***

 

“HOLY SHIT, GUYS!” Clint shouted in the other room. Nat and Steve jumped at least a foot in the air. Clint tripped on the rug as he ripped around the corner, catching his breath. His hair was messy and his eyes were a curious mix of tired and alert, like he’d spent the entire night hopped up on coffee. Steve wondered how Clint hadn’t heard his and Natasha’s conversation. The more he thought about it, the more he figured Clint knew Nat had it under control so didn’t bother getting involved.

“He answered?” Nat asked, leaping up to her feet. Her eyes were shining with excitement.

“I don’t know what changed his mind, but he’ll do it!” Clint exclaimed. He raked his hands through his hair, letting out a breathless laugh. “Holy shit, we’re infiltrating a HYDRA base. This is crazy.”

“Just like the good old days, huh?” Nat said. She wrapped her arms around Clint and whispered something Steve couldn’t make out.

“Who’s ‘he’?” Steve asked. The underlying _can we trust him_ was obvious.

“An old associate of mine.” Clint answered. “He slips me hints about HYDRA missions once in a while in exchange for getting him into elite underground poker games. The guy’s a big gambler.”

“I thought you were retired.” Steve said.

“HYDRA has a lot of enemies,” Clint said, “they pay a lot to stir the shit a little. I’m not above being that guy.”

“So he’s not loyal to HYDRA?” Steve asked.

“Eh. I get the feeling he’s getting sick of their shit.” Clint replied with a shrug. Steve was still suspicious.

“It could be a trap.” Steve said. “He could tell HYDRA we’re coming and then we’ll be done for.”

“Nah, you don’t know Vasily like I do.” Clint said. He addressed Natasha next. “He said he wants us to get him out.”

“Like _out_ out?” Nat asked.

“Yeah. He thought you might know how since… you know. You’re the only one that’s left HYDRA without dying. He said he wants to disappear.”

“Tell him I’ll take care of it if he comes through.” Nat answered. The two continued on with their conservation, working out the specifics of their covers and attack plan. Steve’s mind was stuck on one sentence in particular.

“What do you mean you’re the only one who’s left HYDRA without dying?” Steve asked. Nat and Clint sighed and exchanged looks.

“Leave it to the professionals, Cap.” Clint said. Steve stared at him.

“C’mon, Steve. You think _this_ is the hard part?” Clint asked. He raked his hands through short, dirty-blonde hair, leaving it messier than it had been before. “HYDRA doesn’t like people running around with heads full of their secrets. They’ll want your friend dead as soon as we get out of there.” He raised his eyebrows at Steve, making him feel like even more of an idiot than he’d thought possible.

“Fuck.” Steve said.

“I thought you didn’t like that kinda language.” Teased Natasha. Steve shot her a look and reminded himself to give Sam an earful for talking about him behind his back.

There was so much to consider. This thing was far too complicated for him. Only a month ago, his biggest worry had been meeting his publication date. Back then he’d been wishing for another adventure. It seemed like he’d gotten more than he bargained for.

“You know what? I don’t care if we need to kill everyone in that place.” Steve said. “I won’t stop until I have Bucky back and _safe_.”

Natasha offered him an indecipherable smile. He wondered if it was admiration, entertainment, or nostalgia. It could have been any of the three.

“Alright. Then we better go wake up Sam.” Clint said.

 

***

 

Sam seemed to have decided that the White Stripes’ ‘Seven Nation Army’ was their so-called road trip theme song. Steve had shot him his most disappointed eyebrows but Sam just laughed.

“You gotta admit it’s fitting, man.” Sam said, just as he restarted it and the first line started playing again. _I’m gonna fight ‘em all. A seven nation army couldn’t hold me back_.

Steve couldn’t deny he wasn’t far off the mark.

“Play that song one more time and I’ll throw you out of the goddamn car.” Clint said. “You wouldn’t even see it coming.”

“If you wanted to be stealthy, telling me what you’re gonna do probably isn’t the best plan.” Sam said. He met Clint’s eye over his shoulder. Clint - since he was apparently still five years old - stuck his tongue out at him.

“Boys,” Natasha said, “let me handle it.”

“Thank you, Natasha.” Steve said, shaking his head at Sam and Clint.

Nat put on The Proclaimers’ ‘500 Miles’, much to Steve’s irritation. He knew he should have taken his Harley and driven separately. He kicked himself for giving in and agreeing to ride with Sam.

“Are you kidding me?” Steve demanded, a red flush slowly creeping up his neck. He couldn’t help but tap his foot along, but he could feel the eyes of everyone in the car trained on him.

“ _But I would_ kill _500_ guys, _and I would_ kill _500_ more…” Sam sang along, smiling like a cat who just caught a canary. Steve shook his head at the lyric change, trying with all his might to hide the smile sneaking across his features.

“ _When I come home, well you know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who comes back home to you.”_ Natasha sang, meeting Steve’s eye. She didn’t have to say anything for Steve to know exactly what she was thinking. Years of spy training made her exceptionally good at picking up behavioral cues, even subconscious ones. Her gaze was the equivalent of if she’d started singing _Steve and Bucky sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G_ like a kid on the playground.

Steve leaned over to press the button to remove Natasha’s Bluetooth connection, the song instantly replaced by the news. They were talking about the results of the latest Mets game and Steve felt slightly guilty that he hadn’t watched it.

“Aww, Cap, c’mon.” Clint groaned. Steve shot Sam a glare.

“You told them about the _Captain America_ thing?” Steve asked, inwardly cringing. Nat’s smirk was becoming so strong it was almost a full-out smile by now.

“You didn’t want us to know about the _local reporter who fights for American values all around the world_?” Nat asked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I think it’s cute. Maybe Barnes’ll agree.”

“It’s tacky.” Steve said. He looked out the side window to hide Nat’s view of his bright red cheeks.

“All codenames are tacky.” Nat said. She cast Clint a sidelong glance.

“Like _Black Widow_.” Clint taunted.

“Like _Hawkeye?”_ Nat retorted. Clint snorted a laugh.

“At least that one makes sense. I’m a good shot and people started calling me that behind my back anyway so it sort of stuck.” He explained it for Steve and Sam more than anything. Nat made a slightly derisive noise to show her disagreement. Clint shot her a _don’t you dare_ sort of look that let Steve know there was more to the story.

“It’s none of my business.” Steve said, raising his hands in surrender as Clint shot him a glare. Clint was probably intimidating in the right circumstances (i.e with a gun pointed at your head) but his glare was nothing compared to Nat or Bucky’s.

“FYI, _Black Widow_ is a classification. It only became a codename because I was the best.” Nat informed them, shooting Steve a wink.

“I’ve got a good one for you. _The Falcon_.” Steve supplied. He watched Clint’s eyebrows raise and had to admit he was sort of looking forward to his reaction.

“ _Falcon_ was the name of my helicopter in the Army, a kickass AH-64 Apache. Never let me down.” Sam explained. He let out a grunt of nostalgic pleasure as he recalled his time in the Army.

“You’re calling yourself _The Falcon_?” Clint asked. Sam glared at him through the rearview.

“Falcons are the fastest birds in the world, just so you know.” Sam said, “Hawks just kill rats.” Clint let out a short laugh.

“Hawks have exceptional eyesight and hunting abilities, _just so you know_.” Clint argued.

Sam and Clint continued to argue bird facts to find out whose codename was best. Meanwhile, Nat and Steve exchanged tight smiles. Neither of them were particularly chatty in the stressful times before a fight. Steve preferred to retreat into his mind and rehearse the plan and possible outcomes. He could only speculate that Natasha did something similar.

“We’re gonna get him out, Steve.” Nat said. “But just… remember what we talked about.”

“Bucky’s dangerous. I know,” Steve said, “But he’s still Bucky.” _Somewhere in there_. Nat sighed but didn’t say anything.

Steve didn’t kid himself. He knew that Clint, Sam, and Nat would save themselves before Bucky in an instant. He couldn’t expect them to do otherwise, but it was his responsibility to keep it from coming to that. All he could hope for was that three days hadn’t been enough for Bucky to become the Winter Soldier once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk whether the actual rescue should be Steve's POV or Bucky's... ugh decisions, decisions. Suggestions welcome.


	10. Codename: Captain America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cap and co. perform an extraction mission.

“Hawkeye, you crazy fuck-mother!” Vasily greeted, clapping his old associate on the back. The man looked almost the exact same as the last time they’d seen each other. Vasily noticed that the leather jacket might be the same one he’d worn when they’d worked together in Hungary.

“I think you mean ‘motherfucker’. Russian dipshit.” Barton replied.  _ Whatever _ . _ Same shit _ . He returned the gesture. 

They met in the cameras’ only blind spot on the premises. It was a small square at the edge of the fenced area, only unwatched because Vasily had moved the camera yesterday during the shift changes. He’d done it as smoothly as possible while supervising the Soldier’s target practice. Vasily had felt the Soldier’s gaze on him as he did it, but it hadn’t seemed to arouse much suspicion. 

“You have what I asked for?” Vasily asked. Barton nodded and passed him a package. Vasily counted the money and checked the passport and identification papers. 

“Ukraine?” Vasily demanded, cringing. Barton shrugged, but couldn’t keep a smirk from creeping across his features. 

“Better relations,” Barton offered as an explanation. Vasily grumbled under his breath. 

“Okay. I leave now,” Vasily said, holding up the package. “Door is unlocked, like agreed.” Vasily didn’t want to risk losing his head start. 

Whatever Hawkeye had planned, he didn’t want to know. When someone said ‘leave the door unlocked, we’ll do the rest’, it was always best not to know what ‘the rest’ was. Besides, nothing they could do would be as important to him as getting the fuck out of here. Vasily was done with HYDRA, with the Winter Soldier, with the Mironovs, with all of it. 

“Thank you so much. Really.” A tall, handsome blond man said. He was built like an Olympian and his t-shirt was much too tight for the muscles beneath it. Vasily had to fight himself to keep his mouth from dropping open. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Vasily asked instead. The guy shot him a small smile. His teeth were infuriatingly straight and white.

“Steve.” He said, at the same time as Hawkeye said: “Captain America.” Vasily’s eyebrows raised in question. The guy called Steve’s cheeks flushed red.  _ Steve _ . Why did that seem familiar? Vasily had never met a Steve before. He couldn’t place it. 

“Well, Captain,” Vasily said, “thank  _ you _ , and if anyone asks ‘where is Vasily Karpov?’, tell them he is dead.” 

Steve nodded. His facial expression was almost comically grave, like he’d seen people be this serious in movies right before breaking into highly secure buildings. Vasily would have cracked a joke about it, but the translation didn’t come into his head fast enough and the moment was gone. 

“Give Romanov my best.” Vasily said. Barton nodded and agreed. 

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve asked urgently, as if he’d had to force himself not to blurt out this request earlier. Vasily looked between he and Barton a few times, wondering if one of them would enlighten him. He didn’t remember ever working with someone named ‘Bucky’. That was a weird enough name that he’d definitely recall it. Clint shot the big-shouldered man a pointed look. Vasily knew a ‘shut up’ glare when he saw one.  _ Not my problem _ . 

Vasily handed over his key ring before any of them could change their minds. 

“Good luck, comrades.” Vasily said, giving them a lazy two-fingered salute. 

“Don’t lose all the money at once, huh?” Barton called out. Vasily made a face at him. 

“Now I remember why I never call you.” Vasily said dryly. 

“Right back atcha.” Barton said with a smirk.

Vasily shoved the package with all his I.D’s in his rucksack and shouldered it. He got a brief pang of guilt in his chest as he realized he hadn’t said goodbye to the Winter Soldier. The feeling came as a surprise. Why the hell should he feel bad about that? He shook it off fairly easily. The person he wanted to say goodbye to had been wiped away years ago. 

  
  


Steve’s hands were shaking with anticipation. What if Bucky didn’t recognize him all over again? Would he try to kill him? What if he was hurt? Steve’s blood started to boil just thinking about it. 

“Hey, Rogers? We clear?” Nat asked in his earpiece. 

“Yep. Clint’s opening the Northeast door. I’ll follow him and find Bucky.”

“Cap! What are codenames for if we’re not gonna use them during a mission? C’mon, man.” Sam interrupted. Steve sighed in irritation. 

“Falcon, you and Nat - Widow - wait in view of the service entrance. Clint’s gonna open it for you.” Steve explained. He watched Clint fumble around with the key ring, trying key after key into the door. 

“My bad, Cap. It was already unlocked.” Clint said, shooting him a wry smile. Steve fought not to roll his eyes. 

“Nat, once that service door’s open, you and Sam engage. Draw them to you so I can get to Bucky.” 

“Roger that, Rogers.” Nat said. Steve frowned. 

“Hilarious.” 

Steve followed Barton through the Northeast entrance, passing the empty desk where he supposed Karpov used to be. Clint passed him the key ring. 

“Be quick. This place gives me the creeps.” Clint said, starting towards the service entrance. Steve found it borderline hilarious that he chose to bring a bow and arrow as well as a gun. He didn’t know anyone still used those outside of marksmanship competitions. 

Clint wasn’t wrong about the HYDRA safehouse being creepy. The place was an old warehouse or storage facility of some kind that had been made liveable. It was almost entirely concrete and had very little windows. Steve’s eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the darkness. The ominous HYDRA symbol was spray-painted onto the chipping, filthy wall. Clearly, appearances weren’t the top priority around here. 

Steve checked a few of the rooms, attempting to be as quiet as possible. The nearest one looked like it was made out to be a living room. There were couches pushed against the walls and a poker table in the corner. What was weird to Steve was that a single chair had been moved to the centre, a suspicious stain on the ground beneath it. The sight made his stomach churn. His brow furrowed as his eyes raked across a spindly metal table and what looked like a makeshift indoor fire pit. Why anyone would want one of those was a mystery to Steve. The pictures on the wall were of several men shaking hands with other men or posing with families. They seemed out of place in a room like this. 

Steve left and opened a few more doors down the hallway, searching for Bucky. Some of the rooms were made for meetings, one housed a kitchen and yet another poker table. Steve was already starting to get impatient. The buzzing of the air conditioning unit was putting him on edge. It was all he could hear. Every time Steve opened another door, he expected to find a room full of HYDRA men armed to the teeth with guns pointed at his face. 

When the alarm sounded and gunshots rang out from somewhere in the building, Steve almost jumped a foot in the air. He backed into the kitchen as footsteps sounded in the hallway. He waited for them to pass before inching out of the room, going in the direction where the men had come from. 

“Bucky?” He called, knowing full well it was probably a bad idea. Steve’s heart was hammering against his chest so hard he regretted passing up Natasha’s offer of carrying a gun with him. He preferred hand-to-hand combat and didn’t want to freak Bucky out, but he still felt weirdly vulnerable with nothing but a pocket knife. 

Steve was so hopped up on adrenaline that he almost missed the heavy steel door to his left. Somehow he knew that Bucky was behind it. He fumbled for the keys so quickly he almost dropped them. 

“How long do I have?” Steve asked Sam over the earpiece. He heard grunts and gunshots. 

“Quick as you can would be nice.” He answered breathlessly. Steve felt a pang of guilt. He exhaled quickly before finding the only key that seemed to match the lock’s material.

“Buck?” Steve asked as he threw the door open. Immediately, he was greeted by someone’s hand around his throat. 

Steve’s eyes adjusted to the flashing red emergency lights enough to tell that it was indeed Bucky holding him by the throat. Despite the situation, that was still a relief. 

“кто ты?” Bucky asked. His voice was slow and rough and so unlike what Steve remembered Bucky sounding like that he had to do a double-take. It took his brain a second to realize that  _ kto ty _ was Russian for ‘who are you?’. Bucky loosened his grip enough for Steve to answer. 

“Steve Rogers.” He answered, his voice cracking slightly. He’d been mentally preparing for this, but it still hurt. “I’m getting you out of here.” 

Bucky didn’t react. He was staring at Steve intensely, as if trying to decide whether or not he was a threat. 

“I’m unarmed.” Steve said. “I’m a friend.” When Bucky didn’t react, Steve tried to remember his Russian from the child soldier article. 

“Друг.  _ Droog _ .” Steve said. He hoped that was indeed the word for ‘friend’. His Russian was rusty. 

“English is fine.” Bucky said. Steve let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. When the red emergency light shone on Bucky’s face again, Steve noticed his cheekbone was swollen and dark with what looked like crusted blood. His chest constricted. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Buck. I promise I’ll explain everything, but right now we’ve gotta go.” Steve said. He put both hands gently on Bucky’s wrist and eased the fingers from his neck. Bucky didn’t put up much of a fight. He seemed more confused than angry. 

“I can’t.” Bucky said. “I signed a contract.” He spoke strangely slowly and the emergency lights reflected Steve’s face in his friend’s glazed-over eyes. Steve knew that if they ran a drug panel it would light up like a Christmas tree. 

“C’mon. We don’t have much time.” Steve said, more insistently this time. He wished he could sit Bucky down and ask him  _ what happened _ . He’d seen the evidence and heard stories, but Steve couldn’t for the life of him figure out what could have possibly made the Bucky he used to know into… whoever this was in front of him. Bucky seemed even more distant than in their first time in the S.H.I.E.L.D. interrogation room together. It was like someone had scooped out Bucky’s personality completely, replacing him with an automaton. It was heart-wrenching. 

“Is this a test?” Bucky asked. Steve was somewhere between wanting to cry or scream. The way Bucky’s eyes seemed to plead with him to  _ please stop fucking with him _ stung. 

“No. It’s me! It’s Steve! We grew up together in Brooklyn. You used to-”

“Stop.” Bucky said, his voice sharp. Steve felt himself flinch. Bucky was watching him intensely, his expression flickering between suspicion and fear. “Who are you really?”

“My name is Steven Grant Rogers. You know me.” Steve had to fight to keep his voice from breaking.

“I said: WHO ARE YOU REALLY? I know Strucker sent you!” Bucky shouted. He punched at Steve with his left arm, causing numerous chips in the wall when Steve narrowly dodged him. Steve couldn’t breathe. This was bad. 

“You have three siblings. Becca is your blood, the twins are your stepdad’s. You used to call them the ‘little terrors’, but you would’ve done anything for them.” Steve said. He thought of mentioning their mothers or how Bucky used to beat up the low-lives who picked on Steve back in the day, but his throat was too tight to form the words.

“Bullshit.” Bucky breathed. His fists were clenched at his sides, but he didn’t get violent again.

“Buck, please.” Steve said, stepping forward slowly to close the distance between them. “We have to go.” 

Bucky glanced at the security camera in the corner of the room. Steve could almost see his brain working overtime to calculate all possible outcomes, weighing the worst possible consequences if Steve was lying against the opportunity to get out of here if he was telling the truth. Bucky’s eyes snapped back to Steve’s, his gaze nothing short of terrifying in the emergency lights. 

“Tell Strucker I got the message last time.” Bucky said. His voice shook and so did his flesh hand. Steve took another step forward, albeit a tiny one. It was all he could do not to wrap his arms around his old friend and never let go. 

“Strucker isn’t here.” Said Steve softly. Karpov had told them that much. Bucky shook his head and scoffed. It was a terrible sound, rough and aggressive. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve. His swollen jaw worked slightly. The distrust on his face broke Steve’s heart in a million tiny pieces. 

“Fuck off.” Bucky finally spat. Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and bit his tongue against the rising tide of emotion. He wanted to scream at Bucky, convince him to remember him. Mostly, though, he wanted to put a bullet through this Strucker guy’s skull. 

Steve sat down on Bucky’s cot. There were no blankets on it and the pillow was stained and barely thicker than Steve’s wrist. He could get angry about that later. For now, he would just sit here and stare at Bucky until he decided to come with him. No matter how long it took, Steve wasn’t leaving without him. 

Steve couldn’t fight the small sense of pride that grew in his stomach as he saw Bucky’s face twist into a familiar scowl. It was his  _ I swear to god, Steve, you’re making me grey before my years  _ frown. Steve hadn’t realized how much he’d missed seeing that. He could easily imagine Bucky calling him an idiot before his frown slowly morphed into a smirk. 

“I’m not leaving without you, Buck.” Steve said stubbornly. Bucky’s fists clenched and unclenched as he surveyed Steve and looked between him and the camera. The chance that Steve was indeed who he said he was was starting to outweigh the chance that this was all scripted by HYDRA in an attempt to test Bucky’s loyalty. Steve could tell Bucky was coming to the realization by the way his angry frown was making way to a very confused version of a similar one. To most, the change would have been negligible, but to Steve it was like a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easy.” Steve said with a small smile. Bucky didn’t reciprocate it, but also didn’t seem to be on the verge of choking him again. Steve took that as in invitation to move from the bed to Bucky’s side, making a  _ c’mon _ motion with his head. 

Bucky hesitated for a few seconds before turning towards the camera in the corner of the room. Before Steve had any time to react, Bucky had ripped the bed from the wall to the spot directly under the camera. He hopped up on the bedframe and punched the camera out again and again with his metal arm until pieces of glass and wire hung from the ceiling and sprinkled the lumpy mattress beneath his feet. Steve’s mouth fell open slightly but he said nothing, just waited for Bucky to slow his breathing and leave the room first. He didn’t glance back once.

 

“Sam, I’ve got him. Let’s go.” Steve said, waving Bucky back over to him as the latter got sidetracked by peeking into the living room. Steve said something about not having much time and tugged Bucky’s arm gently. Either Steve was going crazy, or he thought he saw something like gratefulness in Bucky’s face as he allowed Steve to pull him away from the doorway. 

“Where are you, Rogers?” Nat asked. She sounded breathless, but the shooting seemed to have stopped. 

“Uhhh… Leaving through the Northeast door now.” Steve said, just as he pushed it open. Part of him had expected to be torn apart by bullets the second he stepped outside, but he couldn’t hear anything but the twittering of birds. He let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Bucky had stopped behind him, clutching at his ribs and taking short, measured breaths to combat the pain. 

“We don’t have to run, you know.” Steve said, debating whether or not to offer his arm as support. Nat, Clint and Sam had bought them enough time to get to the car and pick them up. Steve’s driving skills were pretty rusty, but good enough for that. Bucky shot him a look that Steve translated into  _ thanks,  _ mom _ , but I got this _ before stepping up his pace to a light jog. Steve matched his step but lingered on Bucky’s injured side, watching for any sign that intervention was needed on his part. 

Steve nearly shit his pants as a shot rang out somewhere behind them. Bucky dragged Steve down to take cover behind a HYDRA vehicle. It wasn’t the time to linger on that for too long, but Steve’s chest expanded with a sudden rush of affection towards Bucky. 

“You brought a gun, right?” Bucky asked, peering around the corner of the truck before taking cover again as another shot rang out. 

“Ermm…” Steve started, feeling like an idiot. Bucky let out a disappointed sigh and frowned. 

“Wouldn’t do much, anyway. Watchtower.” Bucky said, waving his hand in the general direction of the shooter. Steve was glad to notice that his voice had lost its edge a little. He was starting to sound more like himself. Bucky brushed gravel off his arms and pressed his right hand to his ribs for a few seconds as the movement caused pain to erupt in his midsection. He waved away Steve’s worried look.

Steve had forgotten that watchtower. Vasily had made sure it was empty earlier, but clearly it hadn’t stayed that way for too long. 

“Does it have a blind spot?” Steve asked. 

“We’re in it.” Bucky replied. He swore under his breath. Steve checked around the truck. The car was much too far to run to without getting shot at least once, but Sam, Nat, and Clint were counting on him to get them out before reinforcements came from the next closest safehouse. 

“Any chance you know how to steal a car?” Bucky asked, testing the handle on the armoured truck. It was locked. 

“Did it a few times in Colombia, but I’m not really…” Steve trailed off as Bucky raised his eyebrows. “I was writing an article about a cartel and things went south. Don’t give me that look.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Steve’s chest tightened with nostalgia.  _ Not now _ , he told himself, warding off fond memories of he and Bucky before their relationship had deteriorated. 

“Stay down.” Bucky warned as he wound up his metal arm. It took numerous hits to break the bullet proof glass, but he managed it without getting shot. Steve watched in awe.

“Worth a shot, I guess.” Steve said, slipping into the driver’s seat as Bucky climbed in the back. It wasn’t worth going back into the line of fire for the passenger seat. 

‘Borrowing’ the HYDRA truck was a lot more complicated than hotwiring beaten-up wrecks in Colombia, but Steve got the engine sputtering to life in less than a minute. He rolled over the curb and backed into another vehicle on their way out, apologizing under his breath to no one in particular. Bullets hit the glass and side of the truck and Steve had never been so thankful for an armored car. 

“On my way. Be ready.” Steve said into the earpiece.

“We were ready twenty minutes ago, man.” An annoyed Sam huffed. 

“Black truck. Coming in hot.” Steve said. He was acutely aware of Bucky’s face lingering near his shoulder. He could feel his friend’s breath on his neck. Steve could smell him now, too. The first thing he’d do once they were in a safe place was get Bucky into a shower. 

“What is it?” Steve asked, making quick eye contact while still trying to keep his eyes on the road. Bucky sighed, his breath slightly rustling the hair on the base of Steve’s skull. Steve tried to absorb the warm shudder through his body. 

“Why did you -- Why would…” Bucky trailed off and Steve could practically hear his jaw working. 

“‘Cause you’re my friend, Buck.” Steve said, “I couldn’t just leave you here.” Even if Bucky didn’t remember them being friends, Steve hoped the reminder would at least set him at ease even if it didn’t trigger any memories. It seemed to appease Bucky because the next time Steve checked the rearview mirror, he’d settled into the back seat in a more comfortable position. 

“They’ll look for me.” Bucky said quietly, more to himself than to Steve. 

“Then we’ll deal with that. Together.” Steve said. He accelerated around the corner and pressed down on the brakes, coming to a rough halt in front of the figure he assumed was Clint. 

“Jesus! Took you long enough!” Clint said, ripping the door open. 

“Where are Nat and Sam?” Steve asked. His pulse was racing as he noticed a few HYDRA men lying bloody and motionless on the ground. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked over his shoulder at Bucky. The scars and bruises on his old friend’s face was all he needed to convince himself it was worth it. 

“Coming.” Clint said between deep breaths. It sounded like he’d been running. “Hey, I’m Clint. Barton.” Barton said, extending a hand to Bucky. Bucky’s eyes widened in panic. 

Steve saw his eyes flicker between the exits and then to Steve, like he was looking for what to say. 

“Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton. Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes.” Steve introduced. He didn’t miss the small sigh of relief from the seat behind him. Steve tried not to think about that. It might hurt too much if he did. 

“Not much of a talker, I’m guessing.” Clint said, giving Bucky a quick once-over. He shot him that encouraging Barton-y smile and Steve was all of a sudden very grateful that he’d been the first one in the truck. 

The thought had barely even formed when a gasping Sam and Nat squeezed into the back seat. 

“Press on it, Rogers!” Nat ordered. Steve fumbled with the gears and rammed it into reverse. He cringed as the back wheels rolled over something he hoped to God wasn’t a body. Bullets pelted against the back window, causing Steve to press down on the gas. Sam’s face hit the back of the seat in front of him when Steve suddenly accelerated.

“Damn! How long has it been since you drove a car?” Sam demanded, nursing his forehead. Steve didn’t answer right away as he was too busy trying to get them onto the main road without getting a tire shot out. Admittedly, his driving was jerky and he got them on the unpaved shoulder more often than not. He only started breathing normally again once the sound of bullets on the truck’s flank was nothing but a memory. 

“My bike’s better for the city. So… a few years, I guess.” Steve explained. Sam scoffed and made a joke about how his driving was more likely to kill them than the HYDRA guys’ bullets. Even Bucky’s lips quirked at that. 

Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, fatigue was hitting him hard. The way Clint’s head was drooping told him he wasn’t alone. Natasha took the wheel when they stopped for gas. She quipped that it was for ‘safety reasons’, but part of Steve thought it might have something to do with her not wanting to give Steve the directions to the safehouse they were heading to. Nat explained that it was her emergency safehouse, an old motel owned by a paranoid ex-associate who had armed it up the wazoo. It sounded perfect. 

“Nobody’s looking for me, dude.” Sam said as they switched seats and stretched their legs. “I ain’t going to this creepy safehouse of hers. Just so you know.” 

“Come on, Sam.” Steve pleaded. “I could really use you for this.”

“If by ‘this’ you mean fixing your buddy up, I don’t think I can help you there. I’m pretty sure he still hates me.” Sam said, shooting Bucky a look. Even though they were outside the car and Bucky was still in the back seat, Steve was slightly suspicious that he was listening in. 

“Bucky doesn’t  _ hate _ you, he just doesn’t trust you.” Steve said.  _ Probably doesn’t trust any of us, _ he wanted to say,  _ including me _ . 

“Not gonna lie, I’m not his biggest fan, either.” Sam admitted. “The whole quiet, brooding thing is… well, it’s creepy. And he smells.” Steve nodded and fought not to roll his eyes. 

“I can’t force you to come with us.” Steve sighed. He really wished Sam would come, though. Steve wasn’t sure if he could handle this on his own. The chance that Nat and Clint would hang around for more than a day or two was quite slim. 

The way Sam sighed gratefully told Steve all he needed to know.

“Let me know when you’re back in New York, alright?” Sam said. Steve nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. 

“Will do.” He said with a forced smile. Sam nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Take care of yourself, too. It’s not all about Bucky.” Sam said. The worry in his eyes sent a small wave of tension rolling through Steve’s shoulders. 

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve said, “For helping today. You’re a good friend.” Sam smirked and shrugged, but Steve could tell he appreciated the words. He really was grateful for his help. Not many people would exactly leap to the opportunity to break a former hitman out of a mafia safehouse. It was a lot to ask. Steve didn’t blame Sam if that was enough HYDRA action to last him a few months at least. Nevertheless, it was still disappointing. 

Clint and Sam left separately in a taxi. Nat took the driver’s seat and Steve moved to the back with Bucky. They were both trying to force themselves to stay awake. Steve would nod off for a few seconds and then pinch the inside of his arm, jerking back upright. Bucky attempted to keep his eyes on the road, memorizing the turns and signs they passed. His eyes soon grew unfocused and hooded and he slumped in on himself, falling over towards Steve before stopping his fall with the flesh arm. 

Nat watched with a wry smirk, inwardly betting with herself to see how long it would take for them to fall asleep on each other. She could tell Steve was itching to hold Bucky close and never let him go. The question was just how long Bucky could hold his eyes open. The answer was: not long. The next time Nat checked over her shoulder, the HYDRA hitman’s head was on Steve’s muscular shoulder. The reporter’s arm was snaked protectively around Bucky’s torso. Both breathed slowly and deeply. Steve even snored occasionally, which was both surprising and amusing. She’d definitely have to tell Clint about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I don't know how to end this story. Please bear with me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for making it through! Feel free to comment and/or leave suggestions :)


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